


Someone You Can Trust

by SophiaCatherine



Series: One More Cup of Coffee (Before I Go) [4]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Whump, recovery in lakeside cabin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/pseuds/SophiaCatherine
Summary: After Captain Cold betrayed the Flash, and then found out he was his boyfriend, Len and Barry thought their relationship would never recover. But, months later, their attempts at starting over are going well. Len is working for an organization that rescues metahumans in trouble, and he's determined to channel his energies into something that will make Barry proud of him.But his dangerous new job might be about to get him noticed.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart
Series: One More Cup of Coffee (Before I Go) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813276
Comments: 85
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to ‘Can’t Take That Away From Me.’ 
> 
> Title from ‘Come on Home’ by the Indigo Girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter expertly beta read by blueelvewithwings, with much co-writing help on one scene from RetroactiveCon. Thank you both!

“I hate this city,” Len says down the phone, as he heads out to the motel car park. He’s pleased to see his motorcycle, at least. Between the neighborhood - rough even by his standards - and the utter lack of security at the motel parking lot, he’s surprised every morning when it’s still there.

 _“No you don’t.”_ There’s laughter in Barry’s voice. It’s a little bright spot in Len’s grouchy morning. _“You just don’t know how to dress for California.”_

It’s an old, good-natured argument. Coast City isn’t entirely to Len’s taste. It’s the weather, mostly. He hates the irritating blasts of warm air every morning, as he leaves the blessedly air conditioned motel room he’s been living in for the past few months. He hates the sun, determined to blaze down every damn hour of every damn day, from seven till five. He even hates the beach. And he's the only one in the entire state of California who does, judging by the backed up traffic all the way from his motel room to the shore every fucking morning. A perennial problem, when his current base of operations _overlooks_ the beach.

Barry seems to have taken Len’s silence as confirmation. _“You’re wearing a leather jacket again, aren’t you?”_

“...No.” Len lets the guilty lie color his voice, just so he can hear Barry laugh again. He gets his reward. That beautiful laugh, that he hears so often, from someone whose life has seen more tragedy than Len could imagine. A man who keeps on running and laughing through it all, never letting the bastards get him down. A man who, out of all the heroes and champions and good people he could have chosen, loves Len. His Scarlet.

Len reminds himself one more time why he’s living here, why he took this job rescuing metahumans from unimaginable horrors. He’ll never believe he _deserves_ Barry. All he can do is try to make up for what he did to him. Along the way, he can play his insignificant little part in keeping Barry safe - and all the other metas like him. 

And Coast City’s not really so bad, he thinks, as he looks out over the line of stationary cars choking in smog, all the way to the beach. He’s honestly surprised how much he enjoys the work… and there’s two days in an idyllic lakeside cabin with Barry to look forward to at the end of every week. Could be worse.

“You coming to get me tonight?” Len asks as he gets on his bike, waiting to finish the conversation before he puts his helmet on. 

They’ve been spending weekends together in Barry’s cabin for a few months now. Len doesn’t even have to drive there - perks of a speedster boyfriend. That's not where they're going this weekend, but they still get their two days together. It’s becoming almost routine. _Domestic_ , even. And he doesn’t care what the old Leonard Snart would have thought about that. 

_“I’ll be at Safe Metas at five on the dot.”_ Len can hear Barry making coffee in the background, at normal-person speeds, so that he can carry on a conversation. That’s so sweet. Like everything he does.

Len snorts. “When did you ever arrive _anywhere_ ‘on the dot,’ Barry?”

 _“Fine,”_ Barry replies, and Len gets to hear that gorgeous laugh one more time. _“As close to five as I can manage.”_

“That’s more like it.” Len’s key is in his bike engine. “Gotta go - traffic’s hell on Fridays.”

 _“Is your bike still there?”_ Barry asks. He’s always keen to keep Len talking. 

“Just about. One of these days, it really won’t be. That would be inconvenient.”

Barry hums. “I guess you don’t have money to burn anymore, now that you work for a _non-profit.”_

“You’re funny,” Len gripes. Barry never fails to mock him with this fact, whenever it comes up. “I probably should move somewhere more permanent before I lose all my hard-stolen possessions, though.”

_“You should. I worry about you, staying in that crappy neighborhood.”_

That makes him smile so hard that a passing suited pedestrian blinks at him. Len smirks back until he leaves. When it comes to his speedster, he doesn’t care how he looks. “I can still take care of myself, Barry. But you’re adorable.”

 _“Oh - you want another speedster boyfriend perk? You find a place, I’ll move you in_ super _fast.”_

“Cute,” Len replies, refusing to acknowledge the pun. Even for him, it’s too early for that. “Gotta go.” He pauses. This part is a struggle every time... but it’s getting easier. “I love you.”

 _“Love you too,”_ his speedster says back, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. What a wonder he is. _“See you tonight.”_

Len sighs as he pulls out of the parking lot and waits for a gap in the line of standstill traffic. It’s going to be a long day.

* * *

Frankie Kane is sitting on the front porch of the Safe Metas (Coast City) base of operations, cigarette in hand. Len raises an eyebrow in her direction as he approaches, managing to avoid the loose fourth step on the way in. This is a disaster of a safe house, half of it threatening to fall down at any minute. It’s not even big enough for the ten or so metas they’re usually helping at a time. But until the Safe Metas operation decides to emerge from underground and become a real non-profit, this shack is what they’ve got. It owes its existence to a couple of Len’s sizable donations, but he still needs to eat.

Reaching the top of the steps, Len tilts his head. “See you haven’t quit yet.”

Frankie grins at him. She’s leaning on her arms on the porch railings, looking out to sea. They’re a couple of roads back from the beach front, but a gap in some houses ahead of them gives them a reasonable view - if you ignore the de facto dumping ground in the way. “You should take a load off, Snart. It’s not even eight-thirty. What’s your hurry?”

Len steps in beside her. “You and Jared went to check out that warehouse last night, right? Anything suspect?”

She shakes her head, a rustle of purple curls. “No sign anyone was ever there. I don’t think you’re right about that one.”

This end of the beach is a bit of a mess. Thanks to the menacing dark clouds overhead, it’s almost empty. Just a couple of lone seagulls picking their way through the remains of yesterday’s picnics.

“I’m right,” Len murmurs. “There are traffickers based in one of the warehouses down there. I just don’t know how they keep vanishing into thin air.” 

This is the reason Len’s here at all - these hints of a big, shadowy meta trafficking operation in Coast City. About a year ago, missing metas from Central City started turning up here. Len’s working on tracking down the bastards at the centre of it all, but the score keeps slipping through his hands. 

But then, Len always did like a challenge.

Frankie’s a little quiet, staring out at the beach. “You good?” he asks her. Maybe he should get Jared, if she’s not. Len’s been working alongside her for a few months, and he watched her give up her life in Central City overnight to move into the attic room at the Coast City house. She comes with all the telltale signs of a kid who just got out of the foster system, but she seems self-sufficient enough. Still, he hopes she’s got people to talk to about the darker side of this job.

She smiles at him. It’s a bit of a sad smile. “Sure. Why?” 

“I don’t know.” All of the staff worry about the kid a bit. Len’s probably just picking up on that. “You’re okay rattling around this big house on your own, when the rest of us aren’t here, right?”

“Yeah.” Frankie’s voice is a little too bright. She turns around, leaning back against the railings, looking at her black-fingernailed hands, and smiles. “Like I’m always telling you guys - I get out. I even made a new friend. A meta who wants to mentor me.”

Interesting. He wonders if Frankie’s forgotten that she’s never told Len she’s a metahuman. “Yeah?” he asks carefully, following her lead. “Where'd you meet them?”

“Metahuman support group,” she says, suddenly terse. 

Len might already have asked too much. He nods out at the beach. A wind is rolling in, tossing around litter and abandoned beach furniture. Len hopes it’s not a sign of a coming storm. “Glad you’ve got that.” 

Frankie nods at the wall of the house. “She seems nice, anyway.” She snorts. “Terrible British accent. I hope she’s not faking it.”

Len chuckles, but he’s already forgetting what she said, glancing over his shoulder towards the house. “No missions today, right?” 

“No missions,” she agrees, turning sharp eyes back on him. It’s a good day when they don’t have intel about metas who need rescuing. She grins. “I can probably find you some lightbulbs to replace, if you’re bored. Just like old times.”

Len snorts, pushing off the railings. “Let’s see if Jared’s got something a little more interesting for me to do. Did I tell you Sofía wants me to start a book group with the metas? Or was it knitting - I can’t even remember…”

“Aww.” Frankie follows him in. “You’re the worst person I can think of for that job.”

“I know!” 

But she’s narrowing her eyes at him. “You know who we could use for extra-curricular activities around here? Rumour has it that you used to work with some metas back in Central City. What were they called… the Rogues?”

Len has to work very hard not to roll his eyes to the ceiling. “I don’t know anything about no Rogues. And you sure as hell don’t.”

“Leonard Wynters is an international man of mystery,” Jared interrupts from behind the reception desk, in an exaggerated, bored drone. “He never existed before he was dropped off here in a black van. We at the Safe Metas Project do not know who he is.”

Frankie glares at them both. 

Len lifts his hands in a ‘see?’ gesture.

“I’m gonna figure out if you’re _you,”_ she gripes, as she grabs a staff rota and disappears towards the kitchen.

Leaning back against the reception counter, Len says to no one in particular, “Obviously I’m me. She just seems to have got the strange idea that I’m also someone else. Someone… _cold._ ”

“It’s the drawl,” Jared says into his computer monitor.

“I’m working on it.”

“You’re really not.”

* * *

It’s a quiet day full of too much paperwork. In the surprise of the year, Barry is already waiting for him when Len escapes at five o’clock. 

From the doorway, Len takes a minute to gaze out at him. Barry is standing on the steps, looking out to sea. He knows by now not to wear the Flash suit when he comes here; instead, he’s in the Cisco-patented civilian clothes he wears when the suit would be too conspicuous, with a jacket slung over his shoulder. The black outfit doesn’t show off his form quite as well as the Flash suit - as if anything could - but it’s still snug. Len is smirking as he approaches slowly, taking a moment to admire that shapely ass. 

Without turning around, Barry asks, “See anything you like?” 

Only Len’s considerable reputation for being _cool_ prevents him from yelping in surprise. “Okay, I know you don’t have Supergirl’s super-hearing…”

Barry laughs, grinning over his shoulder at Len. “The door squeaked when you opened it. And I had a feeling you’d be the only one to leave here at _five on the dot.”_

Len gasps. “Are you insinuating that I’m lazy, Scarlet?”

A cheeky eyebrow goes up. “Hardly. Just that you’ve been looking forward to seeing me.” Barry lifts an inviting arm, and Len slips under it, enjoying the weight of a speedster’s lithe muscles around his shoulder, and the welcome feeling of safety that comes with Barry’s presence. That was strange for a long time - but the longer they’re together, the more familiar it gets. Len wraps an arm around his waist, whispering into his ear, “We could always stay here for the weekend. Gonna be fine weather for the beach.”

He feels Barry chuckle against him. _“You,_ suggesting a beach weekend? Is the multiverse about to be destroyed in a meta-villain attack?” He nudges Len’s shoulder. “Or do you just not want to keep your promise to come to dinner at Joe’s tomorrow?”

He’s not wrong, but Len isn’t going to admit that right off the bat. He nudges back. “And now you’re questioning my honor?”

“Always,” Barry replies with a twinkle in his eye.

Tutting, Len shoots back, “The things I put up with.” But he can’t deny Barry’s point. The two of them value honesty in their relationship too much, for good reasons. In something of a drawl, Len admits, “The idea of dinner with the Wests might be _one_ reason I don’t want to spend the weekend in Central.” His thoughts skitter away from the subject of Joe West. Len’s not going to let his considerable discomfort about dinner ruin the rest of their weekend.

Barry’s grin is a fine reward after a hard day. “And the other reason?”

Len drops his head on his speedster’s shoulder. “I’m gonna miss our cabin.” It comes out more sincere than he means it to, but Barry might as well hear some honesty about that, too. Len knows he’s doing a good thing here, saving lives and making a difference, but the unrelenting horrors can get him down. Cabin weekends with Barry are the one thing keeping him going, some weeks. They’re everything. 

Barry is everything.

“Aww.” Barry turns his head to give him an adorable peck on the lips. “We’ll be there next weekend. Promise.”

Len allows himself one last twinge of sadness for his truly heroic sacrifice - a weekend in Central City, with _family,_ instead of their gorgeous retreat by the lake with no interruptions from the real world, where no jobs, heroic destinies or foster fathers can ruin their time together. 

But Barry wants him to come to dinner with the Wests. And for Barry, Len would do pretty much anything. “Then lead on, Macduff,” he says, with a wink and a flourish.

They descend the steps, as Barry replies, “That’s a misquote, you know,” and Len snarks back that his Shakespeare knowledge is self-taught and he’s proud of it. As they reach the ground, Len turns his head to catch a glimpse of Frankie at the top of the stairs.

“Hi, Barry,” she says, but her sharp eyes are on Len.

Barry grins over his shoulder. “Hey, Frankie. We gotta get to Central for the weekend - catch up soon!”

“Enjoy,” she calls back. 

But she stays on the porch to light a cigarette, and that means they have to walk a block before Barry can set off for his run back to Central City. “This is ridiculous,” complains the speedster in question. “Frankie knows who I am. No need to pretend I move at normal-person speeds.”

“Right,” Len drawls. He looks back over his shoulder - she’s watching them from the porch, the breeze lifting her magenta hair around her face. “And how did you meet her, again?”

Barry is always shady about this subject. He gives Len a distinctly unimpressed look. “I told you - Team Flash helped her. Not too long ago.” 

“Hmm.” Len tells himself again that he’s not _really_ curious about what’s going on with her, but he can’t help getting an odd feeling about the way she’s asked him questions recently. A leftover instinct from his former occupation. “She seems determined to unmask me.”

“Sounds like the feeling’s mutual,” Barry says with a grin. Which is a fair comment, so Len shuts up. Let Frankie have her privacy. 

Barry stops at the corner. “Ready to go?”

Mysterious co-workers forgotten, Len wraps his arms around his speedster, leaning in to kiss him before they set off. “Oh yeah. This is the best part.”

Barry doesn’t ask if Len means running or kissing, which is probably a good thing.

* * *

Len doesn’t know how he’s found himself here, at the base of the steps rising up to the West house like his own personal Everest, the unknown peak disappearing behind the imposing front door. All he knows is that he woke up feeling like he was going to drown, and told Barry that he was going for a run. “Have fun,” his speedster said cheerfully from behind Animal Crossing. 

Staring up the steps, he grabs his phone. But it’s not Barry he texts.

_I’m at your father’s house. I leave all my tangible property to Barry (if he’s willing to handle stolen goods). What are the chances Joe’s awake yet?_

He can hear the laugh in Iris’s reply that, yes, her dad is probably awake, and that she doesn’t want to know what he’s up to - _but tell me at dinner tonight._

He glances behind him at tree-lined, well-maintained Clements Avenue, solidly middle class and safe. Nothing like the street Len grew up on. He has no idea why he’s thinking about strolling into this particular hornet’s nest. He’s been letting Barry tease him about dinner with the Wests, but they both know it doesn’t bother Len what one more cop thinks of him.

His phone buzzes in his hand again.

_Iris: pray he’s already had his coffee. good luck!_

Yeah. Len’s going to need it. He climbs the interminable flight of steps, pretending his palms aren’t sweaty and his heart isn’t racing - he’s had a lifetime’s practice. His first buzz of the doorbell goes unanswered so long, he wonders if the good Detective is asleep after all. But on his second ring, he hears, “Hold your horses, I’m on my way!” 

Good start.

Len feels his mask creeping up as the door opens. He didn’t really intend for Joe West to open the door to the sight of a smirking Leonard Snart. But, face to face with the good detective, Len’s not inclined to drop the act right away. 

“Snart,” West says, looking like there’s no one he wants to see on his doorstep less. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you till tonight.”

West may have forgotten, but Len vividly remembers meeting him when he was eighteen and boosting cars to beat the boredom. West’s partner slammed Len against a wall and wrenched his shoulder so hard that it hurt for days… unless he’s confusing that time with another youthful arrest. But Joe himself has no reputation for violence - or corruption. So why does Len feel, just for a second, like he’s looking his own father in the eye?

“Hi,” Len says, in his customary drawl. That’s when he feels his smirk slip away. “I know it’s early, Detective - sorry about that. I was just passing. Thought maybe we should have a chat.” He feels himself scratch the back of his neck. Since when did he have tells? _“Before_ dinner, so we don’t ruin it for anyone we both love.”

West looks like he’s about to snap at Len… and then his shoulders slump. “Not a bad idea. Figure we’ve both got dirty laundry to air that we should keep off the dinner table.” He gestures for Len to come inside. “I just put a pot of coffee on. I’d offer to get you some, unless you still have that habit of helping yourself to whatever catches your eye?”

Len pauses at the threshold. The crack about his thieving habits is mostly just West’s prickly sense of humor, but it’s designed to put Len on the back foot. He matches him quip for quip. “Coffee sounds good. And I’ll _try_ to keep my hands off your stuff, but I ain’t making any promises about that chintz teapot in the window.”

He knows he’s hit the right tone when West laughs. “Doesn’t seem your style,” he agrees, leading Len through to the kitchen. “‘Scuse the mess,” he shoots over his shoulder. “Late night at the precinct.” 

Len just nods, giving no reaction to the pointed reminder that he’s in a cop’s house. West sets about making the coffee, clearly keeping Len in sight the whole time. The guy really doesn’t want to relax with him here, does he?

Len accepts the offered coffee with thanks, following West to the couch. “So,” West says, sitting down at the other end and taking a sip of his coffee. “Say the thing you came here to say. I won’t get in the way.”

It’s good coffee. Len folds one leg over the other and stares at the fireplace. He’s got a vague idea of what he wants to say, but nothing clear. He almost laughs at the idea that he came here without a _plan._ “I want you to be honest with me, Detective. Barry told me you were okay with him seeing me, now, but I suspect he has a rather rosy view of the situation.” Len ignores the tiny hitch in his own breath. “I want to know what you really think.”

It’s the most ridiculous thing Len could ask. He’s fine not knowing what one more cop thinks of him.

When West is done staring at him, he sighs. “You know my kids, Snart. I raised them to know their own minds, and then they turn right round and make their own decisions. Should be a sign I did things right, but…” He tilts his head at Len. “But I’m not just a father. I’m a cop, too. I know what goes bump in the night, a little too well. It’s been pretty damn hard, realising I can’t protect them from the world forever.” West laughs, settling back against the couch. “Barry ever tell you how I reacted when I found out he was being a superhero?”

Silently, Len shakes his head. 

“I told him he was a kid being reckless and stupid. My kid.” The detective shakes his head. “And then he went and proved to me he was more than that. Not my finest hour.” He looks up at Len with cold eyes. “But that was his world. I didn’t understand it. This?” He points at Len. “This is _my_ world. I know men like you, Snart. And when I see Barry running head-first into danger with someone who’s not worth it, you’re damn right I get protective.”

Len doesn’t know why he isn’t defending himself. If this was anyone else, he would already have decked them minutes ago. Joe West is no different from any other cop who’s ever told Len how worthless he is.

No… Len’s the one who’s different. Since Barry.

West takes a glug of his coffee and keeps talking. “I told Barry I respect his choices, and I do. But I don’t have to like them. Every police-trained instinct I have, every _father’s_ instinct I have, says you’re bad for him. But I’m gonna let him make his own decisions.” He looks up at Len with a world of mistrust in his eyes. “But maybe you’ll surprise me, and prove to me you’re worth him.”

Len nods at the fireplace. It’s about what he expected to hear. He should be happy. It means he and Barry can do what they want with no parental interference. There shouldn’t be a dull ache building inside Len. The words _worth it_ shouldn’t be ringing in his ears.

He shouldn’t _agree_ with West.

Len deserves his right of reply anyway. His index finger runs around the rim of his mug while he plans his answer. “The most important thing in my life right now is living up to this ridiculous faith your son has in me. Don’t entirely know myself if I’m worth that. I just know I want to be.” He meets West’s cold stare. “So if you think I’m gonna hurt him again…” He trails off, realizing he doesn’t know how to end that sentence.

“Yeah. I do,” West answers Len’s unfinished question. “You think he’s forgotten what he went through when you had him kidnapped? I know Barry, and he hasn’t. He might have forgiven you, but that’s not the same thing.” He points an accusing finger at Len. “You want me to tell you to prove to me you’re worth him? Don’t know if you can. But I do know you need to prove to _him_ you are.” 

Len knows West is right before he’s finished talking. It doesn’t matter how much Barry reassures him that he’s not afraid of him. He _should_ be. Somewhere deep inside, Barry’s still suffering after the kidnapping - he even admits he still has nightmares and occasional intrusive memories, all while pretending he’s forgotten who was responsible, covering it up with more talk of Len’s goodness. But that has yet to be proven.

If Len needs to show anyone that he’s worth Barry, it’s _Barry._

“And if I’ve changed?” Len asks, a little of his boyfriend’s hopeless optimism creeping into his voice. He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or a dangerous one.

“I hope you have.” West gives him a hard look. “I get that you’ve been trying. But a few months of helping people don’t make up for years of the way you lived before. With people like you, old habits die hard.”

Nodding, Len fills in the rest for himself. He can say he’s changed all he wants. He can even live like he has. Doesn’t mean he won’t find out he’s the same person he always was, at his core. Would he be strong enough to do the right thing by Barry then?

Putting his mug carefully down on a coaster, he stands and offers out a hand, mostly curious to see if West will shake it. “Thanks for the honesty, Detective. It’s what I asked for. You came through.”

There’s a moment where West hesitates, and then he shakes Len’s hand. “I’ll see you tonight. And - you’re dating my son. Might as well call me Joe. It’ll make everyone else around the dinner table more comfortable.”

Len’s gratified to get the handshake, if only because he’s not sure how many more hits his pride can take today - and it’s only nine-fifteen in the morning. “Joe,” he agrees, hiding his surprise at the offer. “Same sentiment. I’m Len. Or Leonard.” He considers a light comment about how, when Iris calls him Leonard, it feels like she’s telling him off. But it’s clearly not the time for a family bonding moment. Instead, he spins on his heel, timing his snark for the moment he reaches the door. “That’s assuming you can remember my first name. You forgot about the rest of me for long enough.” If Joe understands what Len is talking about, he doesn’t give any indication of it.

But Len can’t leave things on that caustic note. Apparently whatever demon has been chasing him all morning is still possessing him, because he’s actually feeling guilty. A small part of him curses Barry Allen for having this effect on him. He turns around. “You know I care about him, don’t you?” It’s as close as he can get to confessing how much he loves Joe’s foster son. 

Joe nods. “I know you care. I just don’t know if that’s enough.”

And Len’s done. He needs out of there, before he gives in to every rogue voice in his head. Nodding once at Joe, he walks slowly down the steps.

Then he reaches the ground, and breaks into a run, and doesn’t stop until he gets home to Barry.

Who’s still in his grey PJs, reading in bed. “Hey!” he says, delight all over his sweet face, opening his arms to Len. 

Len burrows into bed, curling against him, and lets Barry hold him.

“What’s up?” Barry asks in his ear, kissing the top of his head.

He doesn’t know how to answer that question. _I don’t deserve you_ sounds like the self-pitying crap it is, and Barry would protest more loudly than Len wants him to. _I’m going to prove I’m worth you?_ Doesn’t mean much outside of the conversation with Joe. Even if that’s exactly what Len intends to do.

He just sighs against Barry. “I went to see Joe.”

“Uh-oh.” As he pulls away so he can look at Len, the sweetness in Barry’s frown hurts a little. Len has the odd thought that he’s a conman in patched-together wings, flying too close to the sun.

“I’m fine, Scarlet,” he answers, before Barry can start panicking. He’s been anxious about the Joe-Len situation, and Len has no desire to make Barry worry any further on his account. “We talked a bit. Nothing dramatic.”

Barry tilts a skeptical head. “He wasn’t mean to you?”

Len laughs and pulls him closer. “Barry, I’ve dealt with Family mob bosses and prison wardens. Your foster father doesn’t scare me. And no, he wasn’t mean. I just asked if he was really okay with me dating you.”

“And?” Barry asks. That’s a very small voice for a superhero.

Len pulls Barry back against him, burying his head in Barry’s neck. “Like he already told you. He respects your choices.” He’s not going to go any further into the details, no matter how many more times Barry asks. He can keep Barry safe from all the shit he brings into his life. That doesn’t go against their honesty policy - that’s just Len being careful. He knows himself well enough for that.

“Oh,” Barry says approvingly into his ear. Len is reassured by the relief in his voice. “Well, that’s great.”

“Yeah. I really think—” Len’s work phone buzzes on the nightstand. “One sec.” He reaches over for it and reads the text message.

_FK: Remind me on Mon to tell you more about the woman from the support group. I think she knows something about Mission #1._

Len sits up.

_My warehouse operation?_

_FK: Yup._

_Thanks._

He turns back to Barry, who’s curled against his side with a patient smile. (Too close to the sun.) Then Len raises one finger, and picks up his phone again.

_Have a good weekend, F._

_FK: Going soft on me, old man?_

_Nothing wrong with a little politeness._

She sends back a confused-looking emoji, and he chuckles.

Barry tilts his head, waiting to share in the joke. “Something funny?” 

“Frankie Kane,” Len answers, replacing his phone on the nightstand. “She’s a hoot.”

Barry wraps himself around Len again. “I’m glad she’s got that job. It’s a tough world out there for a meta on her own,” he chatters, apparently unaware he’s giving away secrets Len doesn’t know. “And you know how it can be for foster kids.”

Len hums. “I do.” He shouldn’t be distracted on the weekend, with Barry in his arms, but his thoughts keep drifting back to Frankie’s text. What did she say yesterday about this woman from the group - that she had a terrible accent?

Barry’s voice breaks into Len’s idle thoughts. “I need breakfast.” 

“That’s my cue.” Len is quick to uncurl the arms from around him, in spite of his boyfriend’s sorrowful whine. Making breakfast for Barry remains Len’s favourite thing to do. A lot’s changed in their relationship over the past not-quite-year, but he hopes that never does. “What do you want?”

Sitting up, Barry bounces on his ass. “How many types of eggs do you know how to make?”

“Seven,” Len calculates. “And no, I am not making them all for you at once.” He ignores Barry’s pout. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he throws an arm around his speedster. “If you just learned to make breakfast for yourself, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

A beaming Barry reaches up to kiss Len on the cheek. “I can make pancakes. I just don’t make them as well as you.”

That’s it. He’s too cute, and Len can’t stand it anymore. He spins Barry around by the shoulders, giving him a proper, deep kiss. “Whaddya say get this weekend started, Scarlet?” he murmurs against his lips. 

“Sounds great,” Barry says, with one of those secret smiles that he reserves for Len alone.

For now, nothing else matters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len and Barry round out their weekend in Central City with a fake heist in aid of Captain Cold’s reputation. But a strange text has Len running back to Coast City in a hurry...

“This is the most ludicrous idea you guys have ever come up with.” Cisco makes an unimpressed face at Len. “And I’m talking to the supervillain who thought crossing the hot and cold gun streams was a good idea.”

“Says the guy who left the aforementioned cold gun in an unlocked storage locker,” Len shoots back from the corner of the Cortex, with the kind of smirk he knows Cisco will find just irritating enough. He shrugs on his parka, pointing at Barry. “Anyway, it was his idea.”

Barry leans back against the wall. He’s already in his suit, cowl down - Len’s favorite look on him. Dammit, he’s too cute. Len wants to take him home still wearing the suit, and... 

Right, Barry’s talking. “Admit it, Cisco. It’s a brilliant idea. Len needs to hold on to his reputation, or his rivals will take advantage of his... change in occupation. A fight in public, Captain Cold escaping the Flash on TV? It will take the heat off him for a while.” 

“You’ve got a way to go with the punning, but good try,” Len says. Barry almost sounded like he was going to hint at Len’s defection to the light side there, but Len’s glare seems to have stopped that ‘hero’ nonsense in its tracks.

Barry, who has been eye-rolling at Len, apparently can’t help finishing with a fond smile at him. “Plus, this way no one will ever connect Leonard Wynters, of the Safe Metas Project, with Captain Cold.”

Len lifts an eyebrow in approval. It  _ is _ a nice bit of planning. Len is rather relieved he can still plan an operation like this. “As long as no one works out we’re never in the same place at the same time. Like Supergirl and Kara Danvers. She seems to pull that trick off pretty well.”

“Did I mention we’ve met?” Barry asks, beaming with pride. “I should introduce you two.”

“It might have come up once or twice.” Len doesn’t know if he wants to meet another of Barry’s do-gooder friends, and from what he’s heard about Supergirl, she’s at the top of that ranking table. But Barry’s still smiling at him, running a hand through today’s extra bed-messy,  _ cute  _ hair, and Len has to work very hard not to smile back. He might not like to admit it, but Len would put up with the most earnest of his Scarlet Speedster’s hero friends.

Len turns on the spot, addressing Cisco. “And you’re sure I won’t be able to hurt Barry?” he drawls.

Cisco gives him a withering look. “Not _this time,_ thanks to my brilliant engineering. The new setting on the cold gun will... well, you’ll find out.” He turns away to his computer, clearly done talking to Len.

Right. At some point, Len’s really going to have to deal with this thing where Cisco is not his biggest fan. He doesn’t particularly care what anyone on Team High and Mighty thinks of him, but Cisco is Barry’s best friend. And Len hasn’t exactly given the guy much reason to trust him. 

“So this stunt is good for Snart,” Cisco says to the computer screen. “What’s in it for me?”

“Oh, I’m sure we could arrange something you’d enjoy, Cisco,” comes a purr that Len knows well. He gets a little stab of satisfaction as Cisco spins around on his chair with a mix of terror and delight on his face. “Lisa...” he squeaks. He doesn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence.

Len tilts his head at the impressively costumed Golden Glider. She clearly got a suit upgrade from somewhere - she’s more sparkly than ever. Probably Cisco’s doing. Len’s just going to have to accept being the last to hear about Rogue developments, now that he’s joined the damn hero side. “Hey, sis.”

She doesn’t hug him. Snarts don’t go in for that sort of thing. But her face does light up, just a little, when she sees him. “Lenny! Long time, no phone call. How’s the  _ good _ life treating you?”

“Hah. It’s not bad.” He wanders over to fold his arms in front of her, measuring her up. His baby sister seems to have gotten taller since he saw her last, even if that’s impossible. The showy confidence must come with running the Rogues. Job requirement, otherwise the troops run the boss ragged. “You doing okay? Mardon’s not giving you lip? Hartley hasn’t walked out on you? Shawna hasn’t—?”

Her eye roll at him is a good sign. “Lenny, it might surprise you to hear that I’m pretty good at what I do.” Happiness is a good look for her.

“Quit the overprotective shit, Snart. I’ve got her back,” says a gruff voice from down the corridor, so familiar that an ache starts up in Len’s chest before he even works out who it is. In walks Mick Rory, tossing Lisa a set of keys. “Van’s parked.” He raises his voice. “Hey, Red, you don’t mind a stolen van in your parking lot, do you?”

Barry rolls his eyes as if it’s a terrible inconvenience. “In exchange for this favor, sure, Mick. Just get it out of there when we’re done, okay?”

“I promise not to use STAR Labs as a safe house,” Mick says, while very obviously considering the idea. Then he notices Len. “Snart.”

“Mick.” This time, Len does seriously consider hugging his old friend, but there are people in the room. He just grins at him instead, and gets a crooked smile back. Better than a slug in the jaw, at least.

Cisco, who seems to have gotten over the squeaking thing, glares at Barry. “All of them?” He flings his pointing finger back in Len’s direction. “You did  _ not _ tell me this would involve all of them.”

“It doesn’t!” Barry protests, with a terrifying little co-conspiratorial smile at Lisa. “We need to create the impression that Len’s still working with the Rogues. But none of the meta Rogues are gonna be involved at all!”

“No,” Cisco grumbles. “Just the scary ones with the super-guns.”

Lisa perches on the desk next to him, pouting as predictably as ever. “Aww, Cisco. You think I’m scary? I’m flattered. Don’t you wanna have a little fun with us? I can’t  _ wait _ to have you in my ear.” She bounces her eyebrows at him.

Len rolls his eyes. Cisco is pouting back at her, nerves apparently forgotten as he twirls a lock of his hair around one finger. “Maybe I can try to enjoy it. For you, Lisa.”

There’s always a limit to how much of his baby sister’s antics Len can stand. With a put-upon sigh, he turns away to Barry… who enfolds him in his arms, laughing. “We’ve got a show to get on the road,” he murmurs in Len’s ear. “You ready?” 

Len finds himself surprisingly unfazed by this public display of affection in front of Cisco Ramon and half the Rogues. For the thousandth time, he wonders what Barry Allen is doing to him - and how he ever lived without this ridiculous, impossible man. “Yeah. Come on then.” He’s almost disappointed to have to pull away from his boyfriend. But as he spins on his heel and glares at his team, he feels Captain Cold settling around his shoulders. The persona is his costume, as much as the cowl and suit are Barry’s. “Let’s move out, people. Lisa, Mick, we’ve got priceless museum pieces to liberate. Barry...” He turns around to aim a broad, cocky smirk at his once-nemesis. “You get the honor of trying to stop us.”

“Like riding a bike,” Barry says, just as cocky, and winks at him.

Len is disappointed he can’t ask him whether that’s easier than riding a biker. But they are in public.

As the Flash pulls up his cowl, Len gets a thrill of something he always forgets, until he’s right in the thick of it with the hero. Cold and the Flash - they  _ fit.  _ He tilts his head at Barry. “We should really do this more.”

His hero boyfriend rolls fond eyes. “I’m giving you a ten minute head start, because I’m a really nice guy.” The look Barry gives him next would be easy to read as a challenge, but Len knows him. That glance past the parka to his tight jeans, that little eyebrow raise - pure filth. “Get on with it, Cold.”

Len doesn’t have to be told twice. With Lisa’s van close behind, he’s on his bike and at Central City museum in minutes. Nostalgia is hardly his style - he’s an expert in moving out and moving on - but he can’t help grinning as the Rogues move in sync, running up the steps with guns raised. A quiet entrance was never in the plan. He needs to make it look like he wants to draw the Flash out. The Rogues know exactly where they’re going. The third floor is hosting an exhibit on loan from a museum in Gotham, with a selection of Cartier jewelry once owned by a disgustingly rich princess of somewhere or other. Ignoring the alarms - and people - screaming around him, Cold heads straight for the central case, where there’s a diamond necklace worth nine million dollars.

At Cold’s silent nod, Heat Wave smashes the case. Holding up the necklace to the wall of flashing phone cameras, Cold coos at the necklace. “Ladies, gents and nonbinary folk! Isn’t this a stunner? Might not be able to eat the rich, but you sure can steal their shit and sell it.” He raises his voice. “Flash!” He drawls the name out, enjoying the way it feels on his tongue. “You just gonna let me get away with this brilliant circle of ice? Seems almost  _ cold _ of you not to come.” He tilts his head dramatically towards the crowd. “Imagine what I’ll do to these nice people if you don’t.”

A buzz of static electricity, a crackle of lightning, and there’s a speedster in front of him before the rush of wind dies away. The Flash bounces on his feet, in that cute little way of his. Always so ready to run. “I don’t think you’ll be selling that anywhere, Cold,” he says, in a voice dripping with challenge.

“Well, well, well.” Len grins. “Look who finally decided to join us. Age and experience slowing you down, Flash?” Lisa and Mick are flanking him on either side, their vicious guns turned on Barry. 

“Nope. I’m still a lot younger than some of my villains,” the Flash quips back. Then there’s a moment of convincing fear on the speedster’s face, in the face of the guns. It even tugs on Len’s heartstrings.  _ Nicely done, Barry.  _

Cold smirks in response. “Been a while since you tumbled with us.” He lets his eyes take in the whole of Barry’s tight little suit, from the chestpiece showing off his abs to the tight little pants. An onlooker could read that look as fascination... or as something a little hotter than that. The twitch in Barry’s eyebrow tells Len that he appreciates the ogling.

Barry’s little smile is more subtle than Len’s gaze, but there’s still heat in it. “Hoping to make up for lost time, Cold?”

Cold runs the necklace through his hands. “Might be. But I think you still remember that you can’t take on all three of us and win, Flash,” he drawls. “I think you’re bluffing.”

And then Barry tilts his head and raises one finger, in a prearranged signal.  _ Now. _

Len knows when the Flash is about to run. He learned the tell-tale signs a long time ago - a flicker of yellow in a mask-framed eye, a crackle of lightning around the red suit, the twitch of muscles in a body molded to break the speed of sound. Cold raises his gun, pressing down on a new button underneath -  _ thanks for the present, Cisco _ . “Enjoy the new setting!” he yells, and fires.

If there’s one thing Cisco Ramon can do, it’s style. The cold gun all but explodes in Len’s hands, in a burst of showy pyrotechnics. But the material that shoots out of the gun is some kind of foam, not ice. Given the lack of a temperature drop around Len, he suspects it’s not even cold. 

Barry collapses to the floor, writhing like a dying man, with an Oscar-worthy scream. In a moment of pure weakness, an icy spike of panic runs down Len’s spine. On terrified instinct, he goes to crouch down beside the speedster, when Barry winks - hiding it in his agonized twitching on the ground. 

It’s the only thing that persuades Len to keep up the act. “Are you watching, Central City?” he calls out, straightening up to address the crowd. “Hope everyone who’s seen this little show knows Leonard Snart still runs this town.”

“And the Rogues are still the only bad guys who matter here,” Lisa adds, cocking her gun over her shoulder. Len grins at his sister - a worthy successor. “Any questions, address them to Golden Glider.“

A nod from Captain Cold, and the Rogues scarper with the diamonds, aiming for the back alley behind the museum.

Where a grinning Iris West, holding open a large bag, says, “Hand it over.”

Sighing, Len dutifully places the necklace, along with the four other diamond pieces they liberated, into the bag. “You’re a mean woman, Iris.”

“Oh, you love me anyway,” she shoots back. Len laughs.

“That was fun,” Lisa says, beaming at Len, who nods back. The sweet moment lasts less than a minute, before Lisa and Mick start sniping with Iris about how much STAR Labs should be paying them for their time.

So it’s only Len who feels the familiar storm approaching. Grinning with anticipation, he takes a few steps away from the team - and is rewarded by a streak of lightning flashing ahead of him. By the time Len gets to the end of the alley, a smirking Flash is leaning against the wall with his arms folded. “Enjoy yourself?” Barry crows, so self-satisfied. 

A glance back confirms that the others are still busy. Len licks his lips, crowding Barry against the wall. “So smug, Flash? I think you’ll find I won that particular fight.” He braces his hands either side of Barry’s head, locking him against the wall. Len takes his time kissing him, teasing his mouth open, enjoying Barry’s little moans of surprise and pleasure. Somehow, with Barry’s cowl up, it’s even hotter.

“Oh, you think so?” Barry crows - when he gets his breath back. “I’m pretty sure that was only because of Cisco’s tech.” He tilts a smug head at Len. “But that’s the only reason you ever got away with anything, isn’t it, Cold?”

Little brat. Time to teach the Flash something about who’s more talented here. Tutting, Len leans back in to whisper, “Well, how about we see who comes out on top in this one?”

There’s a cough just up ahead of them. “We‘ll just go on without you,” Lisa’s voice calls out. She’s stuck her head out of the van window, with an appalled glare at her brother. “Pretty sure you heroes can find your own way back.” Len flicks a middle finger in her direction, and the van roars away.

“Now,” Len says low in his throat, crowding a wide-eyed Barry back against the wall. “Where were we?”

“That is a very good question.” Barry’s voice is all the Flash, and it goes straight to parts of Len that he shouldn’t be thinking about while he’s out in public. 

They make it back to STAR Labs an hour later, after a quick detour via Barry’s apartment. Speedster boyfriend perks.

* * *

“I want hot chocolate too!” Barry calls out in the direction of the kitchen.

“Did you really think I was just making it for me?” Len’s raised voice filters back. “I’m one of the good guys now. I’m learning to share.”

Barry laughs as he pulls on his PJs. “I’ve yet to see any evidence of that.”

This weekend has been so much more of a success than Barry could have imagined. They even got through family night relatively unscathed. Len and Joe shook hands and used first names, while Iris suggested that Barry might want to close his mouth. Then Len spent dinner entertaining everyone with an obviously embellished story about a turf war between the Rogues and the Families. A wide-eyed Wally asked too many questions; Iris grinned; Eddie stared in polite dismay; Cecile left to do the dishes, muttering about having to recuse herself from a case if she heard any more; Joe put down his spoon and glared at his peach cobbler for a minute, then raised a curious eyebrow and asked Len if he ever met Don Santini, and what he was like. It was all very  _ Len, _ but it still felt like progress to Barry.

“You wound me.” Len is bringing in two mugs of cocoa. He sets one on Barry’s nightstand, leaning down to kiss him while he’s there. “I’m an excellent sharer. I’ve shared many important works of art out of private collections and into the world. Just for example.”

Barry gives him a doubtful, “Uh-huh.” But as Len leaves, he pulls on his arm and whines.

“Gimme me a sec,” Len laughs, rounding the bed and jumping in next to Barry with an adorable smirk. “Hi.”

“Kiss me again,” Barry demands.

Chuckling, Len does just that.

Barry lingers into the kiss, cupping Len’s cheek when they finally part. Len gives him an enigmatic little smile back. Barry’s not sure how to thank him for the effort he’s put into this weekend. Figuring honesty is still the best policy when it comes to the two of them, he ends up murmuring, “Thank you for a wonderful weekend.” 

Len makes an unhappy sound.  _ “Wonderful _ is pushing it. I really did miss the cabin.”

“Aww.” Barry wraps an arm around his shoulder. “I mean it, though, Len. I know dinner last night was a lot. I really appreciate the effort you made - especially with Joe.”

The dramatic little shrug of Len’s shoulders tells Barry he’s downplaying how much work that really was. “Please. I like your family. Most of them. Most of the time.” He yawns. “Do you  _ all _ have to be in law enforcement, though? Makes my stories a teeny bit awkward. I don’t have any above board ones.”

Barry laughs. “Sorry about that. You did get your own back today, though. No one at STAR Labs could look us in the eye when we got back after that fight.”

“Hah.” Len is attempting his best  _ I’m such an evil thief _ smirk. “Still think I won.” 

He’s so cute - not that Barry’s going to mention that. No need to make the poor guy feel any less like the supervillain he’s trying to claim he still is. “You won for the cameras, and that’s what matters.” He gives Len a consoling pat on the shoulder. “You were playing it up to the audience so well, I’m surprised the news isn’t already full of reports that Captain Cold is now being played by an actor.” Barry lounges back against the headboard, grinning at his boyfriend’s unimpressed eyebrows. “The only way you could have got any more melodramatic would have been to lose for real, and then say, ‘I’ll get you next time, Flash!’” Barry makes a thwarted face, complete with a shake of his fist, to emphasise the point.

Len nods seriously. “And I’d have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids from STAR Labs.”

Barry laughs, leaning in with the intention of pecking him on the mouth. “You’re too cute.” Whoops, he said it. Oh well. 

He doesn’t get as far as kissing him. Raising a finger, Len says, “Hold that very appealing thought,” and grabs his phone from the nightstand. Then his eyes narrow.

“Everything okay?” Barry asks.

Len is getting up while he reads his phone screen, grabbing the sweatpants he left folded on the chair. “I need to make a couple of calls. Can I use the living room?”

Barry yawns, waving him away. “Sure. Mi casa, and all that.” 

But as he lies down, he can feel Len still in the room. He turns over. Halfway to the door, Len is frowning at his phone, his stance rigid, as though ready to bolt. That’s not good. “Len, is everything okay?” Barry tries again.

In the doorway, Len turns back. “Huh? Oh, just a work thing. I’ll have it fixed in an hour.” When Barry gives him a bereft look, Len laughs. “You sleep, Scarlet. We’ll hang out in the morning before I go home. Promise.”

Reassured by Len’s sweet smile, Barry turns over and curls up. “Night, Len.” The big bed suddenly feels empty, but that’s okay. Len’s work is important. As he drifts off, Barry remembers he should really tell Len he’s proud of him. He will. In the morning.

(He won’t. He’ll wake up alone in bed, with a note on the nightstand that says Len is sorry he had to leave early. Barry won’t hear from him for days. By the time he figures out something’s wrong, it’ll be too late.)

* * *

In an abandoned warehouse at the Coast City docks, Frankie Kane is crying. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispers, cringing as another spiky metal fragment flies past her head and embeds itself into the wall behind her.

The woman is here - the one who told Frankie her name was Zeta. It probably isn’t.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the woman says, in her terrible, sing-song accent, “but if you won’t answer my questions, what choice do I have?” She laughs, a tinkle of metal joining in as she raises her hands. “We hear Leonard Wynters has been poking his sticky little fingers in where they don’t belong. Do you know Leonard, sweetie? I think you do.” Her face twists, and she adds in a cruel mutter, “Dirty thief. Stealing my metas, my  _ property...”  _ She brightens again, and the sing-song tone is back. “And it seems his name is an alias. Really, all you need to do is fill us in on the rest, darling.”

Frankie screws up her eyes as another fist-sized chunk of metal flies past her head. 

_ I could help with this,  _ echoes an oddly gentle voice in her head.  _ That’s metal. You know, the thing I’m good at?  _

Frankie has been friendly with Magenta for a while now, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready for her alter to come out for a fight.

The woman drops into a crouch to look at Frankie, blonde dreadlocks swinging behind her. “Sweetie! Come on, now.” She raises her hand to stroke Frankie’s cheek, and Frankie flinches away hard. “All you have to do is tell us his name, and then you can go home.”

“No!” Frankie yells, tugging on the ropes that are tying her to the chair, but all she manages to do is set herself off rocking perilously. “You’ll hurt him!”

_ Come on, Frankie. Let me help. _

The woman sighs. “Fine. But do remember you brought this on yourself.” She gets up, takes a few steps back, and raises her hands.

A shard of metal comes spinning right at her.

...And clatters to the floor. 

“Let us go,” Magenta grates out, straining to keep the shards on the ground. They’re not the kind of metal she’s used to working with.

The woman giggles. “You must be Magenta! How lovely to make your acquaintance, darling. I’m Amunet. I’ve heard so much about you from Frankie.” She beams as she reaches down to pick up a sharp piece of metal, holding it up to Magenta’s eye. “Now, I’m going to make this very simple. I don’t need my powers to shove this in your eye.” Amunet leans in and whispers, “Just a name, sweetie, and you can go. Of course, I’d love you to stay and join my little gang of freaks, but we can talk about that later.”

Magenta’s breath is coming in gasps as she strains back against the ropes, pulling away from the spike. She needs to keep Frankie safe. Frankie, who’s going to kill her for this, but that’s better than both of them being dead. “Leonard Snart,” Magenta mutters, trying hard to ignore Frankie’s hopeless sob inside her mind.

Amunet actually claps her hands. “No.  _ Captain Cold _ is the hero of that pompous bunch at the Safe Metas shack? Are you serious? Oh, you are!” She tips back her head, laughing. “Oh, this is too perfect. We’re all going to have so much fun.”

Magenta slumps back in the chair, defeated.

* * *

Len drives back to Coast City all night, through rain so heavy he can hardly see the road. By the time he decided he had to leave, it was two in the morning, and Barry was sound asleep, looking so peaceful that Len couldn’t stand to disturb him. 

All the way there, the text he got earlier is the only thing he can think about.

_ If you want Frankie Kane to live, you’ll deliver Leonard Wynters to us at Dock Row by 5 PM. _

By the time he reaches the Safe Metas house, the sun is rising over the beach, his hands are soaked and the rest of him is freezing even under his motorcycle leathers. Jared is waiting for him, sheltering on the front porch from the rain. “What’s the sitch, old man?” 

“All I know is she’s in trouble.” Len pushes the door open. Handing Jared his phone, he heads for the back wall behind reception, with its row of filing cabinets, and pulls out the file on the trafficking operation he’s been tracking. He slams it down on the counter.

Jared whistles, then shakes his head. “Could be them… Unless it’s a hoax.”

Turning around enough to arch an eyebrow at him, Len says, “Did you manage to reach Frankie?” Jared shakes his head. “Well then. What does Sofía say?”

“That it’s our call how we handle it.” He laughs. “She said we could call the cops if we want, but…” He trails off.

Right. The city likes to pretend Safe Metas doesn’t exist. This could be the thing that gets them shut down. “No,” Len murmurs into a file. “I ain’t gonna be responsible for what happens if the cops get excited.”

“Better than losing one of our own.” Jared glares at Len. “Or  _ two _ of our own. You’re not going in, old man.”

Len shoves the file open to the two center pages. “You even looked at my intel on what’s going on down at Dock Row?” As Jared takes a step closer, Len has to suppress a growl. “You ain’t giving my trafficking operation away, kid.”

Raising his hands, Jared says, “Hey. Take a breath. I know you’re worried about Frankie. I am too.”

Len scoffs. “Oh, really? No one here bothered to tell me she was a metahuman. You didn’t ever think the rest of us  _ not knowing that _ might put her at risk?”

“Hold up.” Jared tilts his head. “She’s a  _ what?”  _

A sigh escapes Len.  _ Oh, Frankie. _

His hands are shaking on the counter, he realizes too late. Jared clocks it, eyes narrowing. “Is this really about you not wanting to lose an operation, Len? Or is it about the girl?”

Len just shakes his head. “Of course it’s about Frankie.” He frowns at the look Jared is giving him. “What, I can’t have a heart?” Frankie is eighteen years old, and as far as he can tell, there’s no one looking out for her. And maybe he should have realised before how vulnerable that could make her. “She’s on my team, J. And this message - it’s about  _ me. _ Ain’t letting her get hurt just ‘cause she happened to be between me and an asshole with a grudge ‘cause I’ve got one eye on their trafficking operation.” What kind of an unfeeling bastard would that make him?

_ The kind of unfeeling bastard who’s not worthy of Barry. _

After a minute, Jared sighs. “The rest of the team will be here in an hour. If you’re really insisting on going in, you’re taking backup.”

He starts to protest, but he’s silenced by Jared’s raised eyebrow. “Fine,” Len bites out. “But it’s my raid. I make the plan.”

“Fine.” Jared pushes off the counter, heading for the big front room they use for meetings.

That’s when Len’s phone buzzes again. The text is from the same unknown number that sent the demand earlier.

_ Well, hello there, Leonard Snart.  _

...Shit.  The phone shakes in Len’s hand. 

And buzzes one more time.

_ Let’s move up the timetable, shall we? You come now. No backup, and absolutely no superpowered guns. Or your little friend is dead, and everyone will know just which  _ chilly _ criminal is working for your shadowy organisation. That’ll help their reputation, won’t it? I might even throw in a hint about who his boyfriend is! All that red leather - aren’t you a kinky one, Cold? Cheerio. _

Len pockets the phone, walks out the door, and gets on his bike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by blueelvewithwings - thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry figures out that Len has been kidnapped. 
> 
> Len figures out who's kidnapped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of two chapters where I earn that 'graphic descriptions of violence' tag, so be warned for all Len's POV sections.

Barry wakes up the next morning to an empty bed and a note on Len’s pillow. Sighing wistfully, he sits up to get a proper look at it.

_Had to leave to deal with that work stuff. We’ll talk soon. I love you. - L._

Figures. Barry understands, but he can’t help the sad pang starting up in his chest. He was hoping for one last breakfast before he has to be apart from Len for at least a week - probably two, since Len is about to get busy at work. 

He stares at the easy _I love you,_ the phrase that used to be so hard for Len. They’ve come a long, long way since Len ran away for weeks because he couldn’t deal with finding out he’d hurt Barry.

Barry drops the note onto his chest, lying back against the pillows. He’s not sure when weekends with Len got this comfortable, or when Len got… Barry wonders if Len would object to the word _domestic._

Or maybe the word is _happy._ Sometime in the last few months, it’s been a happier Len in Barry’s cabin. _Our cabin,_ says a hopeful little voice in Barry’s head, but he ignores it. It’s still too early to think like that. As much as things have changed, he still doesn’t want to risk scaring Len off.

Grabbing his phone, he shoots off a reply. _Got your note. Don’t worry about it. I know the job gets stressful. Just remember - you’re my hero._

There’s no reply, but that’s fair. It’s Monday, and Len’s probably up to his head in work stuff. Barry hums his way towards the kitchen, thinking about calling Iris and seeing if she’s got time to meet at CC Jitters. 

An hour later, when he’s about to set out, he still hasn’t had a text back. At the front door, he takes a minute to stare at his blank phone screen. It’s not a completely ridiculous thought, that he wants to be sure Len hasn’t gone AWOL again, is it?

Yes. Yes it is. Len has proven himself to Barry, these past few months. He just came to dinner with Barry’s _family._ The least Barry can do is give the guy space when he needs it. He’s going to be a damn grownup, and not contact Len again till he reaches out to him. 

He pockets his phone, and heads out.

* * *

Len doesn’t know how long he’s been here, in the dark. 

Since he’s already lost track of the hours, he’s started categorizing events into ‘important,’ ‘possibly important’ and ‘not important’.

Important: They let Frankie go. 

Possibly Important: They drugged Len, shoved him into a van and drove him to… wherever this is. These facts might become important later, when he can get his head together enough to plan an escape. For now, he needs to focus on categorizing things.

Not Important: He hasn’t eaten for a while. He assesses the gnawing ache in his stomach, and decides he’s gone longer than this without food before. Till it gets in the way of an escape, it doesn’t matter.

Important: Figuring out where he is. There’s a hard floor beneath him. It hurts (Not Important), which means he’s been here a while. He blinks into the darkness, seeking a chink of light, in a line above the floor. Door. He can’t make out how well-reinforced it is. He tries to crawl towards it. Moving makes the room spin so much that he just collapses again. 

Less than ideal, but there's a first step in every escape plan. If he can’t crawl around looking for weak spots, he can make out the shape of the room when the door opens, when the grunts come in to give him more of the shit that’s making his head spin. He fights them, sure, but… weapons and needles. 

Not Important: Pain.

Important: After the third visit from the goons (one with a snake-eye situation that Len’s not fond of), he puts together that he’s in a basement, maybe a bomb shelter. Explains why the musty air is chillier than even he likes it. He pats himself down - finds only a thin t-shirt and boxers. His motorcycle leathers are gone. A shame. Those were his favorites.

Not Important: The stench filling his nostrils, sickening his stomach. He keeps forgetting it’s coming from the bucket beside him. When he remembers, he has to use it again.

Not Important: What the drug is. At first, he thinks that could give him a clue to working around the effects on his damn brain. But the fourth time he asks, they tell him they get it from a metahuman. Len doesn’t know if it’s worse if they’re keeping the poor bastard alive somewhere, or if they’ve killed the meta to… harvest it.

Important: This is going to affect his escape planning. When the shit hits the fan, Len always knows how to ride the adrenaline rush, look at all the angles, his sharp focus paring back the options till he’s zeroed in on the way out. But now, his brain, the one weapon he always carries with him, is sluggish and _slow._ This is a problem.

He drifts again…

_The lake sparkles in the heat of the summer day. His sun lounger is warm beneath him. Barry’s hand is light and languid in his. Ruby the cat miaows on Len’s lap._

_“Len, you have to move,” comes Barry’s echoey voice._

_Len closes his eyes, balmy sunlight prickling his face. “Why?”_

_“It’s cold,” Barry says, a little more urgent now._

_That can’t be right. Len opens his eyes._

_Barry’s face is blue, eyes frozen open. There’s an icicle shot through his chest._

_Len is up and crouching by his sun lounger. “Barry. Barry. Wake up.”_

_Barry’s eyes snap towards his._ “You _wake up, Len.” He looks down at the icicle in his chest, and laughs, and laughs. “What did you do?”_

A noise jolts Len awake. “Who’s there?”

“Oh, just little old me,” says a voice out of the darkness. Len knows that voice. Terrible accent. Penchant for exaggeration. Rumours say she deals in… metahumans.

Len would kick himself, if he wasn’t too cold to move. Has it seriously taken him this long to figure out who’s behind the meta trafficking operation he’s been investigating for months? “Amunet Black,” he groans out.

He holds in a pained noise as the first light he’s seen in days floods the room, her face grinning down at him, lit up hazy and stinging-bright by a flashlight. “Good guess, Leonard, darling! Aren’t you clever?” 

There’s a clatter of metal somewhere behind her. Len flinches. Well, at least he can blame the tell on the drugs.

“I’d say you’re just about coherent enough for a talk, aren’t you?” Amunet taps his shoulder, and giggles. “To be fair, it won’t be a _long_ talk. You’ll be busy with all the screaming.” 

God, the woman can talk. “Gonna get on with the torture?” 

“In a minute, darling.” She crouches down, getting in his face. Len blinks, trying to keep her in focus. “I want something, and you’re going to give it to me. I want Safe Metas out of my city. You, and that meddling Jared, and little Frankie, and all of them - you’re going to go as far away from Coast City as you can get. And no more poking your noses into my business affairs.”

“I ain’t giving you shit.” Len’s Captain Cold drawl is not convincing, but it’s what he can manage right now.

Amunet’s laugh is as annoying as her chatter. “Oh yes you are, sweetie. Or everyone will know who your little boyfriend the Flash is. And that he’s dating the infamous Captain Cold.” She picks at her fingernails. “And I might kill you, but that’s the less interesting part.”

Len fights the spike of fear, like an icicle through his chest. _Barry._ “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Black.”

She tuts. “Of course you do, sweetie! You’ve been spotted on _multiple_ occasions with the Flash. It seems you’ve been working with him.” She bangs down a printed photo onto the floor in front of him, making a face. “You’ve even been spotted _kissing_ him. He’s adorable, but that’s still an awful betrayal of our side, Leonard. Naughty boy.”

The photo is of Captain Cold and the Flash, making out in an alley, clearly taken the day they pulled the fake heist. Len’s brain scrabbles for a last bit of leverage, and finds just one. Barry never took his cowl down. “You don’t know who he is.”

Amunet lifts her hands. “You’re going to tell me.”

A shard of metal comes spinning towards Len, burying itself in his shoulder with a numb shock of cold.

And then Amunet reaches out a lazy hand and rips it out.

She wasn’t wrong about the screaming.

* * *

“Cisco,” Barry says on Wednesday evening, “could you do me a favor?” He’s staring at the same phone screen that’s been staring blankly back at him for the past three days. 

He finally sent another text this morning, sick of the three days spent repeating the mantra in his head, that there were a thousand reasons why Len wouldn’t have called or texted, and that Barry did not want to be the kind of clingy boyfriend who couldn’t let his partner have a life without him. 

Now he’s stuck staring at his own hours-old unanswered text, lit up on the screen in ominous blue. _Hey - are you okay? Radio silence a bit worrying. Just wanted to check in. Let me know how things are, okay?_

The ache of dread in his gut is a dark pit that’s getting wider by the minute.

“Sure,” Cisco answers, from where he’s cleaning up coffee off the floor. “What does my best friend need from me?”

They’ve just finished a late Team Flash meeting, which came to a dramatic end when Cisco had “a teeny tiny accident trying to breach an interdimensional extrapolator and a huge tray of coffee to Earth-19.” HR seemed happy to see the one cup of coffee that reached him, at least.

“He’s _my_ best friend.” Iris is swinging her legs on the computer desk. She grins over at Barry.

“I love you both,” Barry says quickly, before they can make a two-week long thing of that again. “So, yeah, Cisco… Could you tap into some CCTV cameras, if I needed to take a look at their feed?”

“Damn right I could.” Cisco seems to be taking the mere existence of the question as an insult to his hacking skills. Getting up, he dumps the last of the spilled coffee in the trash, on his way to the computer, where he sticks out his tongue at Iris until she moves to let him get to the keyboard. “What’s the location of the cameras?”

“The Safe Metas safe house in Coast City,” Barry says absently, back to staring at his phone.

In unison, Iris and Cisco ask, “What’s he done now?”

Barry rolls not just his eyes, but his entire head. “Nothing, and I’m getting a little tired of all my family and friends jumping to ‘let’s give Len a shovel talk’ every time he’s two minutes late for something. One of these days I’m going to let all of you loose on him, just to see his reaction.” He’s getting too tetchy, even if he thinks he can be forgiven for it right now. To ease the tension in the room, he adds, “Don’t tell me neither of you have ever freaked out waiting a little longer than usual for a text from someone you absolutely do not need to worry about.”

A grinning Cisco shrugs. “Might have done. Remind me to tell you about the couple of days I spent convinced Cynthia was dead in a ditch - no one could talk me out of it.” He opens a website and starts punching in some numbers. “Spoiler: she was on Earth 27 for some freaky athletics contest where they poke each other with electric sticks like Klingons. I was even more of a panicking mess when I found out she’d been _taking part_.”

Cisco turns expectantly to Iris, who rolls her eyes and mutters, “I might wait up for Eddie every time he goes on a stake-out, and no you cannot tell him you know.” She’s frowning hard at Barry. “Tell me you’ve at least tried calling him, like a normal person.”

Barry glances back at his phone, biting a nail. “Yeah, a couple of times this afternoon.” When Len’s cell went unanswered, Barry tried him at work. Where no one picked up, which was even stranger. “And then I tried Lisa, but her phone’s ringing out. Which probably means she’s off doing things with the Rogues that I’m not supposed to know about.” He sighs. “And now I can’t stop thinking about running down there like… like a speedster, but Len might think I’ve lost the plot a bit if I run all the way to Coast City and find out he’s just been busy.”

Cisco is blinking at him. “You called Lisa.”

Squirming in his seat, Barry says, “Yes…?”

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?” When Barry nods, Cisco points a finger at him, turning to Iris. “I trust this guy’s instincts. If he says something’s wrong, then something’s wrong.” His hands return to the keyboard. “Let’s hack this thing like the hackers from Hackers.”

Barry bites down on an incredulous grin, tilting his head. “Oh, now you trust my instincts? About the guy you went behind my back to prove was lying to me?”

Cisco’s fingers are already flying across the keyboard. “I was right, wasn’t I?” Beside him, Iris snorts. “And now you’ve learned from that experience, and you’re suspicious of all his movements, and I’m very proud.” He beckons Barry over. “Hacker voice: I’m in. Thirty seconds. I just get better and better.”

As Barry zips over to look at the screen, Iris is complaining, “You can’t just _say_ ‘hacker voice,’ Cisco.”

“Can too.”

“Guys.” Barry holds up a hand to quiet them. The familiar front entrance of the Safe Metas house is on the monitor, lit up only by street lighting. He can’t see a single light on inside. “That’s not right,” he murmurs.

What?” Iris leans across to get a better look.

Barry gestures at the screen. “The Coast City house doesn’t have long-term metahuman residents, but a couple of the staff live there, and there are rescued people being moved in and out all the time. There should be lights on, people going in and out.” Frankie Kane lives there, he remembers, with a nauseous spike of worry. The insistent voice in his head, the one telling him to run, is getting louder.

“It might not mean anything,” Cisco says doubtfully. “They could all just be out at once…”

Iris lays a gentle hand on Barry’s arm. “How long since you’ve heard from him?”

“Three days.” Barry shakes his head. “No, wait - four. I last talked to him about this time on Sunday. Then he left a note. It said—”

_Oh, god._

Her hand tightens around his arm.

“It said he was having some trouble at work,” Barry finishes. He needs his legs _not_ to give out under him. He has to run to Coast City, right now.

“Go.” She nods at him. He’s more grateful than he has time to tell her - always his stalwart supporter in a crisis. “We’ll be here, ready to alert the team if you need help.” She doesn’t say _if Len does._

Barry runs, faster than he remembers running in a very long time.

* * *

There’s a vent, high up in the corner. At first Len can’t lift his head to see it clearly, but he knows it’s there.

Always start with the simple, direct approach. When the drugs wear off, he runs the door a couple of times, working out strengths and weaknesses and how far he can make it from Amunet’s goons. Then she starts sending them in six at a time. But Len wasn’t a Central City crime boss for nothing.

When they fuck up his leg, that’s more of a challenge. Better not be broken, he thinks, as he lies gasping and shaking on the floor in the dark. A broken leg is going to make escape a challenge.

When Amunet comes in, Len sneaks glances at the vent’s criss-cross bars. It’s small. Eight, maybe nine feet up. It looks to be a tight squeeze for him, but he’s managed worse. Once, at least, in a Chicago prison with Mick... 

It’s an exit. Len keeps it in sight.

* * *

Amunet’s interrogation techniques are cliched.

She eats three-course meals in front of him. “I’ll share if you give me a name,” she says, with that smile that he wants to slap off her face. He might even have thought about doing it, if he wasn’t drugged again.

The urgent smell of chicken and gravy isn’t bothering him. Like this is any test of his willpower. Like he hasn’t starved for longer.

“Leonard,” her corn syrup voice coaxes. “You’ve had nothing but scraps for days.”

“I ain’t giving you his name,” Len rasps.

 _You might,_ Barry says helpfully. He’s playing with a bouncy ball, throwing it up into the air and catching it again. 

“You will, sweetie.” Amunet strops out of the room.

Barry smiles. _Better you than me, right?_

Idly, Len wonders why his hallucination of Barry is wearing the Flash suit.

(There’s a vent, high up in the corner.)

* * *

The thing Amunet hasn’t taken into account is just how much pain Leonard Snart can take.

“You know,” he drawls from the floor, “those flying chunks of metal are a real menace. Could take someone’s eye out.”

Above him, she cleans under a fingernail with a sharp piece of alloy. “Don’t tempt me, Leonard, dear.”

“Oh, go on,” he taunts. “Or are you all talk?”

The shard comes spinning towards him on a gust of cold air, slamming to a stop less than an inch from his right eye, quivering there like it’s trying to decide whether it’s going any further. 

Len’s reaction is stronger than he’d like. Amunet’s toxic tar smile is delighted.

“That the best you can do?” His voice only shakes a little. Amunet is full of shit if she thinks she’s the worst thing he’s ever faced.

Up-down goes the ball. _It’s just an identity,_ Barry says. 

It’s not just an identity, but Len isn’t so far gone that he’s answering a hallucination. 

Not yet.

(Vent.)

* * *

For a terrifying moment, Barry almost can’t find the little house on the clifftop. He’s been to the Safe Metas house dozens of times - how can he not _find it?_

Turning around for his third run up the street, he finally spots the place, completely dark, with its windows boarded up and a padlock on the front door. He takes a second, leaning on the railing at the bottom of the steps. Then, working through the foreboding that’s making it hard to breathe, he climbs them.

He’s only ever seen Len’s place of employment from the outside before. The staff here don’t mind Barry as much as the people at the Central City Safe Metas branch. Most of them know him a bit, if only through Len. But the Flash is still a controversial figure at this organisation, and Barry has always been very careful not to come anywhere near here in the Flash suit. So he feels terrible now, as he phases in through the door, cowl up, as if he’s proving them all right.

Inside, he fumbles in the dark for the light switch, finally landing on it. The front entrance is laid out like a reception area, with a desk at the front. Barry’s searching gaze pauses on the filing cabinets behind it. But, flashing through them, he finds them all empty.

It’s not just the office, either. A quick run around the house proves the whole place to be empty. The furniture’s mostly still there, but no belongings. And from the looks of some overturned drawers upstairs, everyone left in a hurry.

Something has happened, and it’s nothing good, and Barry can’t _breathe…_ He sags against the reception counter.

That’s when the phone starts ringing. An old landline, on the far side of the counter. Barry flashes over, glancing up at the camera, high up in the corner. Barry’s out of comms range here. Maybe it’s Cisco. He picks up the phone with a hesitant, “...Hello?”

 _“Jared Hughes,”_ a voice on the other end says. _“We’ve met a few times… Flash.”_

Jared. The guy in charge here - at least, Barry’s always assumed he is. “Where’s Len?” he demands.

_“More immediate question, Barry, is why you’re in my safe house.”_

Barry is too freaked out to be polite right now. There isn’t _time._ “You can probably see how the two things could be connected,” he says, briefly regretting how much he sounds like Len. 

There’s a sigh down the line. _“Got a pen? I need to give you an address. Other side of Coast City.”_

Barry’s nails are digging into his hands. He forces his fists to unclench. “Address? What for?”

 _“The place we moved to. We had to get the hell out of Dodge.”_ Jared pauses. _“Sorry you’re only hearing about it now… but Len’s been captured.”_

The chair behind Barry turns out to be useful. “Captured?” 

_“Yeah. Kidnapped getting another Safe Metas employee out of a bad situation.”_

Barry writes down the address. He doesn’t hear anything else Jared says. The buzzing in his ears is too loud. He’s at the new safe house in seconds, but it still feels like the longest run of his life.

* * *

Amunet gets bored. She leaves Len alone for a while. Days?

At first, he laughs. He’s done longer in solitary. (Probably. How long has he been here, again?)

Soon he figures out the difference. In prison, he knew how long he’d get in the SHU. Two days for smuggling contraband; a week for hitting someone. He’d take calculated risks, and do the time if it was worth it. But it was always too quiet, with nothing to do but listen to the voice in your own head. And keep count of the hours.

It’s the silence that’s getting to him now. 

_You’ve lost track of the hours,_ not-Barry says, his smile bright and painful like lightning.

Len knows he has.

(Is that a vent? It’s dark in here. He’s probably imagining it.)

* * *

“You’re boring,” she whines, one day, when he’s spitting blood onto the floor. She’s been trying to get Barry’s name out of him for… he doesn’t know how long.

He’s stopped bothering to get up. “Sorry to disappoint,” he croaks.

The room spins more, after that. They might be upping the dosage. Permanent damage to his brain would be less than ideal. He can’t get out of here if his head isn’t working right.

(Where’s the vent? Where’s the _fucking vent?)_

* * *

There’s always a way out. Sometimes he remembers that. He crawls around, looking for exits. Has he done this before? He can’t remember… 

_You’re wasting your energy,_ not-Barry says. Len shouldn’t be able to see him in the darkness, but there he is. His smile is wrong, like someone has remembered it wrong. That smile is too much like a smirk for his Barry. 

Len crawls back to his spot in the corner, inches from the hallucination, and gives up this particular fight. “Hi.” 

_Hi, Len._

His greedy eyes watch Barry’s figment of a bouncy ball - up and down, up and down. What Len wouldn’t give right now for something to fidget with. “What do you think she wants with me?”

 _She’s waiting for you to break._ Barry tosses the ball into the air. It hovers there, shimmering with lightning. _The longer she takes over it, the deeper you’ll fall into despair. And then she gets to show off the great Leonard Snart, broken and out of commission. A very public example, to encourage Safe Metas to get out of her city._

Len snorts. Breaking him. Seriously? “Does she have all the time in the world?”

Barry looks at him. _Do you?_

Len pretends he doesn’t feel the gnawing pain in his stomach, the screaming agony in the leg that must be shattered in more than one place, the throbbing shoulder wound that might be infected. 

He lets his head drop back against the wall of his fortress. 

(Wasn’t there… something? High up in the corner?)

* * *

One day - _how many days?_ \- Amunet dials things up a notch.

She’s been scattering references to Lisa into what passes for conversation in her sick mind. Len doesn’t rise to the bait.

And then she gets the phone out. “Hello, Ms. Snart.” 

Len struggles to sit up. _No, no, no…_

“Or is it _Golden Glider_ these days? And to think I knew you when you just were a diddy little thing.”

Okay. Len can’t hear a response. Okay - this is a video, not a real-time conversation. Okay.

“Lisa, darling, I’ve got someone here who wants to talk to you.” Amunet has the gall to laugh, shithead that she is. “Well, I mean, he’s not doing much talking recently! He can groan and roll about rather sweetly, though.”

And she turns the fucking phone on Len.

“Isn’t he pretty?” she coos. 

Len closes his eyes.

After an eternity of countless seconds, Amunet turns the phone back to herself. “So you can see what the stakes are, Lisa dear. I suggest you get Safe Metas to reply to my demands very quickly. You know how to find me if you actually want your brother back. Of course, if you want to see him thrown dead out of a moving car on the highway into Central City, that can also be arranged.”

_Do as you’re fucking told, girl, or this ain’t going any easier on your brother._

Amunet smiles her toxic smile at Len and clicks the phone off. “That should help speed things along, wouldn’t you say?” She swans out.

Len shudders in the corner like the weak failure of an excuse for a human being he is.

Helpful as ever, not-Barry says, _You need to get out of here._

“You need to find me,” Len snaps back. “Where the fuck are you, Scarlet?” 

Team Flash, the Rogues, the Safe Metas extraction agents - there should be dozens of experienced people looking for him. Even the cops might be interested - they’re not exactly going to jump to Captain Cold’s aid, but the Flash could persuade them. If Len weren’t drugged to the eyeballs with whatever they’ve given him, he’d have gotten out of here by himself already.

No one’s coming.

He’s not worth rescuing.

(No exits. There are no exits.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry nears breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied - you get *two* more chapters of tortured Len, because I needed to split a long chapter into two. Extra chapter warning for medical torture (Len being drugged) and references to psychic torture. Enjoy!

Barry runs circuits of the Coast City suburbs about six times before he finds the address Jared gave him. It turns out to be an apartment on the second floor of a huge public housing block, on a mostly deserted street full of boarded-up windows. Barry walks slowly up the creaking stairs that run up the outside of the building, not trusting them to hold if he runs. 

Jared is standing at the top, leaning against a railing, keeping a vigilant watch over the empty street. “Hi, Barry. Welcome to the new safe house.”

“Hey, Jared.” The guy looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and Barry grips the railing. How long has Len been missing? Following Jared into the crowded entrance hall, Barry spots Frankie Kane standing at the front window, staring out.

There’s almost no furniture in the makeshift office Jared leads him into, so Barry stands. That’s fine - he’s here for answers, not small talk. “Where’s Len?”

“Amunet Black has him.” Jared leans back against a radiator, avoiding Barry’s eyes. “You know her?”

Blacksmith. Barry knew this was bad, but that name sends a jolt of fear running through him like lightning. “Yeah. How long?”

“Since early Monday morning.”

Four days.  _ Four days, _ and Barry didn’t know. Didn’t even suspect until tonight. What the hell is wrong with him? His hands are shaking - he shoves them in his pockets. There’s no time to panic.

Jared is watching Barry closely. “What do you know about her meta trafficking operation? Did you know she’d moved it to Coast City?”

Not in the mood to be accused over this, Barry snaps into STAR Labs PR mode. “We got wind of her metahuman trafficking side-business last year. Golden Glider’s Rogues encouraged her out of Central City. I guess we... lost track of her after that.” All Jared has to do is raise an eyebrow, and rage flickers inside Barry. This stranger doesn’t get to judge him. “She wasn’t our priority.”

“Convenient,” Jared says flatly.

Sighing, Barry looks away. There isn’t time to get angry, either. “Please, Jared. What happened?”

Jared glances towards the closed door. “Frankie Kane got herself kidnapped - poor kid. She gave Leonard’s real name to Black under threat of torture, along with the old safe house address. We all had to get out of there fast.”

The volume of Barry’s voice turns up a notch. “And you let Len, what, be part of a prisoner swap?” He can feel himself hitting that point on his anger gauge where bad things happen, but he doesn’t care. Amunet knows Len’s name. He’s kept his identity safe from the public for years. And ever since the people at Safe Metas have joined the select list of people Len cares about, he’s been going by an alias, even keeping his distance from the Rogues - all to protect the useless agents in this shitty safe house, who can’t even do him the same favor. 

“I didn’t  _ let  _ him do anything!” Jared turns away to the window. “He ran off to rescue Frankie before we could even get a plan together. Never seen him act that impulsive, not in the entire half year we’ve worked together.” 

Trying to make sense of that, Barry takes a breath. It doesn’t sound like Leonard Snart. Not the survivor, the planner, career criminal. The man who only ever looked out for himself. 

But it might make sense for Barry’s Len. The guy who’s always loved his family more than all the diamonds in the world, who’s been nurturing that part of him, working so hard to grow into someone Barry can trust.

Barry slumps back against the wall. “Okay. I need all the details. When he was taken, what you’ve done in response…” When Jared raises an eyebrow, Barry snaps, “Oh, fuck your problems with the Flash and STAR Labs. We’re getting Len out.”

Jared turns right around, real fear in his eyes. Slowly, he reaches up an arm towards the light fitting above him. The bulb fizzes with power, the light flickering on and off. Jared snaps his fingers and the fizzing stops. 

Barry stares up at the light. “You’re electrokinetic.”

“Clearly,” Jared deadpans. “D’you even remember what happened to the last guy with powers like mine who asked  _ STAR Labs _ for help, Barry?”

Farooq Gibran. Blackout. There were… circumstances surrounding his death, but Barry doubts hearing about those would make Jared feel better. 

“Yeah,” Jared says, when Barry is quiet for too long. “I like you, Barry Allen, but I don’t trust the Flash. I’m not letting you near a Safe Metas mission.”

Barry pushes off the wall. “Separate missions, then, but we work together.” Jared’s face is still doubtful, and Barry  _ can’t _ . Not with Len in danger. “Please, Jared. I don’t know what Amunet wants with him—”

“To blackmail us out of the city,” Jared tries to interrupt.

“—but I need him home. Safe. With me.” Barry catches Jared’s eye. “Have you got family, Jared?”

He bites his lip. “Husband and kid.”

The guy seems young for that, maybe early twenties, but Barry gets the sense that the two of them are from very different worlds. Barry doesn’t want to think too much about what it means to be a meta in Jared’s situation - young, black and probably with no support when he was hit by the particle accelerator blast. It must go very differently than when you’re a few years older, white, and backed up by the resources and staff of an entire science lab.

Barry nods. “Tell me you wouldn’t tear the city apart looking for them if they were taken like this.”

Jared is silent for a speedster’s eternity. “Okay,” he says, finally, and Barry lets go of a breath he’s been holding forever. “You can take one of my people with you. A go-between.”

“Frankie Kane—” Barry starts.

“Has just been kidnapped.”

“I want to help,” says a small voice from the door. Frankie is gripping the door handle. She looks a little shaken, but there’s determination in her eyes. Barry knew she was strong - remembers that from helping her last year - but this is something else. 

“Thank you, Frankie,” Barry says, and he means it.

She gives him a smile, weak but real.

“Barry,” Jared interrupts. “There’s something you need to see.” He produces a phone, clearly a cheap burner, and offers it to Barry.

There’s a picture of Len on the screen. Half-naked and unconscious in a dark room. Barry sucks in a breath, trying to make out injuries, but the picture isn’t clear enough. Beneath the picture there’s a text message.  _ Well, hello, Safe Metas. Let me tell you what’s going to happen now. You’re going to get your sticky meddling fingers out of my business and move out of my city. If you don’t, I think I’ll start by telling everyone who your noble do-gooding agent Leonard Wynters  _ really _ is. And then I’ll tell everyone who his boyfriend is. And if that doesn’t make you do what you’re told, then Leonard Snart is dead. _

* * *

In her workshop, Amunet’s head lolls back against her chair. On the monitor, the video feed is playing images of the captive Snart. He’s slumped on the floor, satisfyingly bruised and bloodied, but not  _ broken _ yet. She wants that name. “Oh my god. I have never been so bored in all of my, to be fair, considerably interesting life. When is he going to tell me what I want to know?”

Norvock points at the screen. “Fuck the Flash’s name. The whole point is fucking Snart up enough that he learns to stop meddling in your business, right? Looks like you’re getting there.”

Amunet’s boot clatters down twice on the bare concrete floor. “I simply must have it, Norvock!”

Norvock makes a face. “Whatever. Then bring in the psychics and rip the name out of his mind. That’ll hurt him plenty, too.”

“You’re not seeing the bigger picture.” She rolls her eyes at her pointless assistant. “The Flash has meddled in my business, too, as you so eloquently put it, on a number of occasions. Call it a personal vendetta. And...” She thinks back to the video she took for Lisa Snart. Oh, Leonard’s  _ face _ when he thought his sister was seeing his pain. Much better than all the disappointing torture she’s thrown at him. “If we want to break him, we’re not going to achieve it by beating him up. He’s one tough cookie. We need to make him hurt. Getting his little boyfriend’s name out of him will be just the ticket.” 

“If you say so.” Norvock shrugs. “I just wanna hear him scream.”

“Oh, well why didn’t you just say so, my dear?” That much, at least, Amunet can do. She picks up her phone. “Send one of the heavies in, would you, Collins? Yes, with the cattle prod. Thank you, dear.”

Then she settles back with her sandwich to listen to the screams. It’s not the worst lunchtime entertainment she could imagine. She can keep this show running a while longer.

* * *

Barry leans hard against the Cortex wall, drifting in and out of the conversations around him, letting it hold him up, just for a minute. He has to keep working on the search. He will. In a minute.

It’s been four days since he got back from Coast City - at nearly two in the morning.  _ Get some sleep, _ Iris insisted, as if that was possible. Barry just stared up at the ceiling for a few hours. It wasn’t even six o’clock when he headed back to the Cortex, running through silent, empty streets, hearing nothing but the accusing voice in his head.  _ How could you not know?  _

He’s been repeating the same routine for days, getting to STAR Labs before sunrise, where Cisco is already waiting with coffee and a worried smile that Barry tries not to look at. Iris and Caitlin join them later, making Barry eat. He complies so they’ll stop bugging him, inhaling a plate of sandwiches at the computer, like cardboard in his mouth. He dashes around both cities, following desperate trails that lead nowhere. He bullies criminals who claim to know Amunet Black, all useless in the end. He fails to find a single clue as to where Len is. He hates himself. He keeps searching.

Somehow, in a haze of identical hours, painfully slow and too fast to count, he’s made it to Tuesday. Len has been gone for nine days. Two hundred and twenty-six hours. Barry is going to start counting the minutes soon, too. Just like Len would. 

(Just like Len  _ is,  _ wherever he’s being held, alone and waiting for rescue.)

Frankie and Cisco are swapping information - and jokes \- like old friends. Barry bites down on the urge to snap at them. (Get back to work - get the hell on with it - every minute that passes is another minute Len could be closer to…)

“So why can’t you vibe him?” Frankie is asking.

Cisco shrugs. “Been trying, on and off, for the past few days. I can’t get through. It’s like some kind of psychic interference.” He grins at Frankie. “You ever see The InBetween? Horrible show, totally deserved to be cancelled, but there was this one psychic woman who could…”

At the best of times, the idea of psychics is still like a bucket of cold water over Barry’s head. (This is not the best of times.)

He tunes Cisco out, focusing on Iris and Caitlin, over by the medical cot. This turns out to be a mistake.

“She’s not going to kill him,” Iris says. 

“How can you be so sure?” Caitlin is setting up a medical station. Surgical tools. IV. Blankets on an empty cot. (Expecting injuries.)

“It gets rid of her bargaining chip.” Iris shrugs as if this is a hypothetical  _ fucking _ question. 

Glancing up at Barry from the console, Cisco asks, “You okay, man?” 

“Yep.” Barry turns his head in Iris and Caitlin’s direction. “We don’t know that.” His flat voice echoes off the Cortex walls. “Amunet might be very happy to kill him as a warning and go right to her next move.” 

Iris and Cailtin both freeze. 

Beside a silent Frankie, Cisco says, “He’s already told her your name.”

Something inside Barry snaps like dry twigs under a boot. “We don’t know that either!” He rounds on Cisco, who looks suddenly nervous. (Good.) “You’ve never exactly trusted Len, have you, Cisco? I guess you’ve just been waiting for him to betray me and prove you right, huh?”

“He’s done it before,” Cisco mutters.

“He’s changed!” Barry roars.

Frankie takes a step back.

Barry squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t believe Amunet’s message. Len wouldn’t tell her my name.” 

The long silence is a tide that rolls out slowly. Frankie and Cisco go back to talking about the Safe Metas operation. Wally speeds in and out, talking to Cisco in a low murmur. Caitlin is on the phone.

Iris’s hand is on Barry’s shoulder. 

He pushes her away. (Find Len. Get him out. Get him home. Nothing else till—)

“Come for a walk with me,” she says, persistent as ever.

He’s too numb to argue. He follows Iris to the lounge, opening familiar balcony doors, breathing in cold air. The colder the better. Far below them, the evening traffic is backed up and at a standstill, going nowhere.

Iris leans back against the railings, shooting him a thoughtful look. “Remember when Eddie was kidnapped?”

Barry nods. Suspecting this is one of those pre-Flashpoint things where Iris’s memories are different from his, he says nothing.

“We were fighting at the time, because you were a mean goober who hadn’t told me you were the Flash—” Barry manages to smile, and Iris pokes him— “but you were still really supportive. You told me you were going to bring Eddie home, and then you did. And everything was okay in the end.”

Not quite how Barry remembers it. What he does know is the one thing that’s always true, any timeline, any universe. If someone gets hurt around here, it’s Barry’s fault. “Not without… casualties along the way,” he says eventually. It’s the closest he can get to resolving the conflicting memories.

“But you still got him home to me.” Iris steps closer, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “So I know how badly you’re freaking out right now, but you need to trust us to get Len home to you too.” She raises an eyebrow. “And maybe don’t lose your shit at everyone who wants to help you do that.”

An apology turns to sand in his mouth. He tries to tell her that he’ll try. What comes out is, “This is my fault.” He doesn’t get to have a normal, happy life. He should have learned that a long time ago. 

Those sarcastic eyebrows of hers climb a little higher. “Barry Allen thinks someone getting hurt is his fault? What a surprise.”

It shocks him out of his funk enough to turn his head. “Iris!” This wouldn’t be a great time for him to dissolve into giggles.

Iris raises her hands, grinning back at him. “Sorry! But seriously, Barr. This about Len. He’s pissed off a big bad. We need to figure out that mystery, not waste time blaming people whose fault it is  _ not.” _

She’s right. Staring out at night falling over the city, Barry remembers Len telling him this would happen - that his past would bring trouble to their doorstep, no matter how far he ran. Len didn’t believe he could ever have a normal, happy life either. 

They were both right.

Barry reaches out for Iris. She wraps her arms around him without a word, and he takes a minute to lean into her. The scent of her perfume and the feel of her head against his chest are always his safe place. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve a friend like her, but he’s more glad to have her than she knows.

“As much as I  _ hate _ to interrupt this sickly-sweet moment,” says a voice like acid and honey behind them, “don’t you have someone to find?”

Lisa Snart is standing in the open doorway. 

Barry pulls away from Iris in a hurry. “Lisa—” 

She doesn’t let him finish. “Where’s my brother, Barry?”

* * *

“Give him more,” someone says.

Is that Amunet? Len blinks up at dark figures haloed by stinging light. She’s with someone else. One… two more voices?

“You could just let me help,” says a new voice. Is that an Italian accent? Len lived in Venice for a few months. Tourists were easy pickings. Pizza wasn’t up to much. Canals stank.

“Oh, do be quiet,” Amunet tells her. Len blinks harder. That  _ is _ Amunet, right? She’s waving at someone in… a while coat. “More,” she says. She sounds bored. There’s a reason why that’s bad for Len. He can’t remember what it is.

White Coat steps forward, tapping a syringe.  _ No, no, no… _ He just had a needle… He struggles against the sharp prickle in his arm, rips it out, lurches forward, brings up more bile. In front of people. Where the hell is his pride?

Amunet is crouched on the ground beside him. Forces his chin up, right into the light. “Leonard. Tell me his  _ name.” _

The other woman laughs. How many people are in the room - ten, twenty? He can’t _ count…  _ “I could reach right into his head and rip it out for you, Black.”

A snarl. “Shut the fuck up, Psyche.” Eyes stare back into Len’s. “I. Want.  _ Him. _ To. Tell. Me.”

She lets Len’s face go. He tumbles to the floor.

Scuffle, somewhere above him. Someone screams. “Get out get out get out!”

Someone flees.

The door opens.

_ The door opens. _

Last chance, or he’s done for. He hits out at White Coat. Grabs the guy’s wheeled medical trolley in a clatter of equipment, leaning hard on it - broken leg - staggering towards the light.

He makes it halfway down the hallway, lurching left and right into the bright, moving walls, before two of Amunet’s goons take him back down into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to RetroactiveCon for excellent beta reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Len does the one thing he's spent two weeks trying so hard not to, the mystery of the psychic block preventing Cisco from vibing Len is solved - to Barry's horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'm reminding readers of the 'torture' tag, although there's less of it in this chapter than in the last two!
> 
> Many thanks to RetroactiveCon for great beta reading.

“We don’t know where he is.” Cisco’s tone is oddly gentle, for someone with a gold gun pointed right at him. “Safe Metas have been combing through every location. We’ve been helping.” He reaches out a hand, settling it on Lisa’s shoulder. “We’ll keep trying, Lisa.”

She’s got thirty more seconds of posturing, then Barry is speeding the gun out of her hands. He owes her that much longer.

“That’s fine.” Lisa’s smile is hard and dangerous, and her eyes are terrified. “The Rogues will be happy to smash up the HQ of every criminal who’s ever dealt with Amunet Black.”

“Bold,” Cisco replies, so kindly that Barry wants to cry. “But you know Amunet’s gonna retaliate, right? Where will your brother be then?” 

“Lisa, put the gun down so we can talk like the grown-ups and allies we are, okay?” Barry is trying to sound every bit the confident Team Flash leader who can give that kind of order, but his voice wobbles at the end. The effect is less than convincing.

Lisa turns her head to look at Barry, keeping the gun trained on Cisco. “Do you know what they sent me? Did you see the video?”

Barry shakes his head, bracing himself against the desk.

“Lisa.” Cisco squeezes Lisa’s shoulder. A look passes between them that Barry can’t read.

Slowly, Lisa lowers the gun.

“There you go,” Cisco murmurs. 

_ Video…  _ Barry’s bloodless knuckles tighten on the tabletop. “Can I see it?”

She looks at him like he’s a fragile thing. He wants to snap at her that it won’t break him, but she doesn’t need that from Barry. She’s been through enough. Before she can argue, or he can change his mind, he takes her hand and leads her into the med room.

She sets it up and wanders back into the Cortex, leaving Barry alone with her phone. For Lisa, that’s oddly sensitive.

When she comes back, Barry is staring at the frozen screen of static at the end of the video. He looks numbly up at Lisa, wondering if his own eyes are as red as hers. He’s never seen Lisa Snart cry before. Even when Team Flash got a bomb out of her head - and only much later did Barry work out what that was about - she stayed grimly dry-eyed and determined.

But then the video of Len, beaten and broken on the floor with a crowing Amunet standing over him, is enough to make anyone lose their shit. 

_ Now, now Barry, _ Len’s voice says in his head.  _ Time for planning, not feeling. _

“Give this to Cisco.” Barry hands Lisa’s phone back to her. “He might be able to trace something.” 

She shrugs, accepting the phone without a word.

“We’ll get him back, Lisa,” he adds.

“Sure,” Lisa says in the cynical mutter of someone who’s lived through too many broken promises. She follows Barry back into the Cortex, where she tilts her head at Frankie Kane, as if seeing her for the first time. “You’re the one from Safe Metas.”

Frankie, who has clearly never met Lisa Snart, holds out a naive hand. “Yeah, I’m Frankie. Nice to—”

Lisa lunges at her. 

“Hey!” Barry yells, flashing between them. Carefully - he’ll never forget breaking Lisa’s arm now. He is so thoroughly done with all this shit, but apparently someone around here gets to be the grown-up today. Must be Barry’s turn on the schedule. “What the hell, Lisa?”

“It’s their fault!” Lisa yells, as Frankie flees the room. Closely followed by Iris, who is giving Barry a  _ one crisis at a time, please _ look. Lisa spins around, her face a murderous portrait of Snart rage. “That do-gooding Safe Metas lot - Lenny would never have run off to rescue some random girl without them.”

“Lisa,” Barry warns in his Flash voice, “take a breath.” He gets the instinct to lash out, but that doesn’t make it right. “I told you - he went in without backup. Don’t blame the Safe Metas people for this, okay?”

“Right,” she mutters, eyes hard on Barry. “He went because they threatened  _ you.” _ She stalks towards Barry, who feels himself go unnaturally still. “You want me to blame someone else, Barry? Fine. You’re the reason Lenny decided to join up with that merry little band of rescue-happy extraction agents with a death wish, aren’t you?” Another step - Barry’s breath hitches. “You’re the reason he wanted to do something that mattered.” Another step, and Barry does an instinctive shuffle backwards, till Lisa’s got him crowded against the back wall. He could move her, speed her away, but he doesn’t want to. “You’re the reason he wanted to be a better person.” Her voice cracks. “It’s your fault.” 

_ She’s right,  _ says the mean little voice in Barry’s head that’s always known everyone he’s lost was his fault. 

Iris's words come back to him. He doesn’t have time to blame himself, or anyone else. Len doesn’t have time. Barry offers Lisa his hand. “Do you want to help get him back, or do you want to rant at me some more?”

He can see all the fight go out of her at once, shoulders slumping as she takes his hand. It feels small and lost in his. Barry knows the feeling.

But there’s a tiny spark of hope in Lisa’s eyes. “Got a plan?”

_ Snarts. _ Barry scrambles to think up a Rogue-worthy plan. “More reconnaissance,” he says, trying to sound like he knows what he’s talking about. “Cisco’s going to try vibing him again. And…” He grits his teeth. “We could use the Rogues’ help.”

Lisa grins at him. “It would be our pleasure, sweetie,” she crows in a tone that strongly suggests she’d be delighted to show Team Flash how _ planning _ works.

“Lisa.” Cisco’s been watching the interchange with worried eyes. Now he steps forward and puts a hand on Lisa’s shoulder. She lets him. “Maybe you’ve got something of Snart’s I can use to vibe him? The more personal the connection to an object, the easier it is.”

Barry watches Golden Glider step up as Lisa Snart retreats. It’s a painful jolt in Barry, who sees so much of Len in her - when his Captain Cold mask slides on. “I’ll see what I can do,” Lisa says. She tilts a head at Cisco with a little, genuine smile. “What does a girl have to do to get coffee around here, Cisco?”

* * *

_ You’re still resisting. _

Not-Barry’s ball goes up-down.

_ Why don’t you just give them what they want? _

Len is too busy groaning over the bucket to reply for a minute. Fucking cattle prods. “Ugh… I can handle a lot of things, but I was never good at losing my lunch.”

_ Lunch. _ Ball. Up-down.  _ That’s funny. You haven’t had a full meal in - how long have you been here, again? _

“Doesn’t matter,” Len slurs. He shoves the bucket away from him. 

_ It’s just a name, Len. _

Len flops down onto the stone floor. “Ain’t just a name, Barry.” He keeps the hallucination in sight, the only thing he can see in more than a gray outline. “It’s your identity. You managed to keep it safe from me for years. Then you got outed to me without your permission - and that was my… my fault. Least I can do now is keep safe what I know.”

No reply. The ball flickers. In a bright crackle of lightning, Barry disappears.

Len is left alone in the dark, again.

* * *

On the morning of day thirteen, Barry stares at the useless STAR Labs computer screens for three hours, then goes to cry in the time vault. 

Second follows  _ interminable second, _ getting them no closer to finding Len. 

Thirteen days. There’s almost no chance now that Len is not—

When he finally emerges from the sliding doors, staggering against them, Iris hugs him, and then sets him the task of getting Lisa to apologize to Frankie. He’s pretty sure she’s just keeping him busy, getting him out of the way while Cisco keeps working to get past the psychic block. Which means they’re out of options… And Barry’s trying not to think about that. He’s trying not to think at all.

He’s slumped against the wall outside the STAR Labs lounge, breathing into the cold metal against his back, when he hears voices drifting through the cracked-open door. Lisa’s. She wandered off for a couple of days, claiming the Rogues had things to do, probably in an effort to find Len. Barry didn’t ask - plausible deniability, and all that. If she’s back, she might have news. 

Or she might have given up.

“You work with my brother, huh?” Lisa’s voice filters out. “I’m so sorry. He must be the most appalling coworker.”

That laugh is Frankie’s. “Nah. He’s a sweetie. It’s like he wants to look out for me, but doesn’t want to ask if I’m okay.”

“Oh, that’s Lenny.” Lisa’s tone is long-suffering, and Barry finds himself smiling in spite of himself. “You a meta, Frankie?”

Barry pushes the door open, just a crack. Lisa and Frankie are at the counter - Lisa on the serving side, making coffee. Apology probably already achieved, then. That saves Barry a job. “Yeah, but it’s complicated,” Frankie is saying to the counter. “The Flash and his crew helped me out, not long ago. Without them, I could have ended up right where a lot of these metas - the ones we work with - end up. Bad places.” She smiles at Lisa. “You know your brother does a lot of good, right?”

Lisa snorts.  _ “Good,”  _ she echoes dismissively, like the idea is laughable. That’s when she catches sight of Barry at the door. There’s more fear than anger in her eyes as she meets his gaze. She offers out the coffee jug with a smile, like a silent apology, and he shakes his head. 

“Anything?” Barry asks. 

Her face is the only answer he needs, but she says, “Still working on it.”

“We’ll find him, Lisa.” It's barely a half-hearted effort at sounding comforting. Lisa rolls her eyes in reply, but it’s a little more fond than the looks she was giving him a few days ago.

“You don’t have any leads, do you?” she asks. “None of Black’s associates know where she is, and  _ your _ people—” she nods at Frankie— “aren’t exactly just gonna give in to her demands.”

While Barry slides onto a stool next beside her, Frankie takes a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “I’ve been wondering about that. Other than that one message at the beginning, she hasn’t been in touch. We don’t even know how to get hold of her to negotiate.” She tilts her head at Barry. “I don’t think she’s just angling to get control of her trafficking operation back.”

Barry’s always known Frankie was a sharp one, but this is impressive. It doesn’t help, though. “She’s gambling,” he surmises. “With Len’s life.” He looks helplessly between them. 

Lisa shakes her head. The hopeless expressions say they’re all thinking it. 

_ If they don’t know what game she’s playing, how are they going to win? _

Barry slumps on the counter, dropping his head onto his folded arms. He’s just a little tired. That’s all…

“Hey,” Lisa murmurs, and there’s a hand on his shoulder. “When did you last sleep, Barr? ‘Cause, no offense, hon, but you look like shit.”

Barry laughs - a hollow, aching sound. “What does she  _ want, _ Lisa?”

_ “Barry,” _ comes Cisco’s well-timed voice over the loudspeaker.  _ “Are you with Lisa and Frankie? I think I got a glimpse past the psychic barrier.” _

They’re all up and heading for the Cortex a second later. Barry’s legs drag as he hauls himself there at human speeds. Beside him, Lisa narrows her eyes at him, links her arm with his, and chuckles. “Lenny’s gonna love it if Cisco Ramon is the key to rescuing him.”

Barry laughs. It feels like a tiny triumph. They round the corner into the Cortex, where Cisco is holding Len’s— Len’s parka. Lisa found it in his apartment this morning. Barry’s trying really hard not to think about what a bad sign it is that he left it behind. 

“There you are.” Cisco waves at them a little frantically. “This is helping, but it’s not enough. Barry, I want you to see if you can piggy-back me into the vibe.”

Frankie raises an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Cisco turns on his hell to grin at her. “Vibing someone is very simple,” he explains, in the tone of a patient teacher. “I need something of theirs - ergo, parka, thank you Lisa. Then I just reach out through a kind of interdimensional communication relay and… sort of… feel them out. Psychically, I mean.” Cisco nods at Barry. “Signal’s blocked, though. Barry’s going to amplify it.”

“Sure sounds simple,” Frankie says doubtfully.

“Show-off,” Lisa offers from the corner. Cisco’s smile for her is wider. 

It’s not a bad idea. Barry reaches out to touch the parka, feeling the soft fur around the hood. Captain Cold, the bundle of contradictions, who used to hide out in crumbling safe houses and wore a parka worth a thousand dollars. “You think I’m more…  _ tuned-in _ to him than you are?”

Cisco snorts. “Can’t imagine how you wouldn’t be.” He lays one hand on the parka, offering the other to Barry. “Ready?”

Barry hesitates. He doesn’t know why. Cisco gives him a look, and he nods. Every hour that passes is one less hour that Len  _ has. _ He takes Cisco’s hand. “Let’s do it.” 

The world flick-flickers.

Static.

From somewhere far, far away, an echoing voice. _ “I could reach right into his head and tell you, Amunet. Isn’t that what you broke me out of prison for?” _

Where does Barry know that  _ voice _ from? It means dread and fear and pain, and he doesn’t know why...

Cisco is gripping his hand tight enough to hurt. The static around them is stubbornly refusing to form into a real place, not even in the dark and shadowy form of a vibe.

_ “…Tell me…” _

Barry can make out tiny snippets of conversation, but the volume fades in and out till it hurts his head. 

“Still blocked,” Cisco’s voice says, and it sounds like it’s coming from somewhere distant, but he’s right at Barry’s side. 

“Hold on, Cisco,” Barry calls back. “I’m going to try something. Might feel weird, though.”

Cisco just grins. “Weird is what we do. Let’s go, speedster.”

Barry closes his eyes and reaches out with his mind to the Speed Force.  _ Help me find him. Please? _

Apparently, his plea meets with their approval. The world flickers again, this time into a swirling lightning-scape, just for a speedster’s second… and then they can see.

They’re in a dark basement, lit by the thin light of a single flashlight. It’s crowded with more people than Barry was expecting. There’s Amunet Black, gleeful as she leans over a figure lying on the floor.

It’s Len, slumped against the wall. His leg is bent at a strange angle. His face is an awful shade of gray. His eyes are vacant. Barry’s been a CSI long enough to know the effects of a sedative, even through the shadows of a vibe. Why are they  _ drugging _ him? He calls out Len’s name— No reply. He and Cisco aren’t really there.

_ Assess the scene. _ His eyes fall on the white-coated medic next, standing over a tray that holds a mix of medical equipment and a few other objects clearly not meant for treatment. Hypodermic syringes are scattered among the— the pliers and knives. 

And then Barry turns to look at the other figure in the room.

The world tilts sideways. 

Both Cisco and Barry go skidding across the floor in opposite directions. Barry holds out a hand to brace his landing against the back wall of the Cortex. He doesn’t think fast enough to use his powers. Or he doesn’t care.

“A woman,” Cisco is saying, pulling himself up on the computer desk. “Some kind of accent, maybe Italian—”

“Psyche,” Barry says through the dull pain enveloping him. He stays slumped against the wall. “That was Psyche.” 

“Dude,” Cisco says, eyes wide at him. All the eyes in the room are turned on Barry. “Psyche from the Sadistic Psychics? Are you  _ sure?” _

Barry can hear his too-fast pulse in his ears. He nods silently.

Frankie raises a shy hand. “Uh, sorry - who’s Psyche?”

“She helped torture me,” Barry tells the wall. “She’s psychic. Her husband could control metahumans’ powers. She just controlled minds.”

“Barry.” That’s Lisa’s dangerous voice. “What are they using her for? What the fuck is she doing to Lenny?”

Slowly, he drags himself up, turning to look at her. She’s got the gold gun aimed right at him, again.  _ Snarts. _ “I don’t know,” Barry says. 

Then he speeds out of there to the bathroom.

* * *

They’re not bothering with lights anymore. 

“We have Lisa Snart in another room,” says a voice. “We have your sister.”

Len knows it’s a lie. He stops breathing anyway. 

“You  _ don’t,” _ he grinds out, when he can get air in his lungs again.

“Bring her in,” says the voice. 

He squints at the column of light escaping from the hallway. Couldn’t run now if he wanted to. His leg was healing too quickly for their liking, so they broke it again. Done something to his hand, too. That doesn’t matter. What matters is the person in the doorway. He blinks - a distracting tear trickles down his cheek. Might be the woman from before. Italian accent. Could swear he knows her from somewhere. 

He tries to look at her. 

She flickers.

_ …No, no no… _ Was she always Lisa?

Lisa is pushed into the room. She stumbles towards Len, reaching out a hand for him.

He can barely make a sound anymore, but he manages a weak, “Lise?” 

Amunet strides towards Lisa, cattle prod in hand.

_ “No!” _ Len croaks.

Flicker. 

Amunet’s got her.

Flicker.

She’s got the _ cattle prod _ at her back—

“Barry Allen,” Len whispers, vaguely aware of his voice, ragged and broken. “His name is Barry Allen.”

Lisa flickers. 

Not Lisa. It’s… the Italian woman.

Flicker.

Len looks up through cloudy eyes. He’s alone.

_ “Thank you!” _ Amunet crows, over… the loudspeaker.

She was never here.

Psyche. It comes back to Len slowly. The Italian woman’s name is Psyche. Len rescued Barry from her torture. She’s got psychic powers, and Len can’t believe he’s so  _ dense _ that he didn’t recognize her before.

Two weeks in a cell, a few pokes with some pointy objects, and a little psychic projection. That’s all it took, and Len gave them Barry’s name. That’s how weak he is. How fucking  _ easy _ to manipulate. He betrayed the man he loves. Again.

Len knows how this works. They’ve got what they want. They’ll kill him, now. 

Well. Probably better than facing Barry, after what he’s done.

It’s not till later, when he wakes up crying in the dark, that he realizes Amunet never asked the question.

* * *

“Drink this,” Lisa says.

Slumped against the toilet stall door, Barry accepts the bottle passed under the door, too wrung-out to be embarrassed. He chugs half of it down, coughing away the last of the bile in his throat. “Thanks.”

“You good?” Her voice echoes off the bathroom walls as she settles down on the floor somewhere nearby.

“Nope.” He focuses on the cold tiles under him. The chill is seeping in through his jeans, spreading across his thighs, a calming distraction. So this is why Len likes it.

“I know the feeling.” Lisa's voice is choked. It sounds… wrong, for Golden Glider. 

Barry’s fault. Len’s sister is in pain because of him.

“Flash,” Frost calls out. It sounds like she’s at the door. A funny time for her to emerge, Barry thinks distantly. “We need you in the Cortex. Now.”

He drags himself, groaning, to his feet. Flashes there ahead of Lisa. 

Cisco is ashen and still in front of the monitor. Turning his head, he gives Barry a look that makes him stop breathing. 

Barry grips the table. Blinks at the screen, where a video of a dark scene is playing. He can’t make anything out, his brain sluggish after all the throwing up. “What—”

A dazzling security light flashes on. The camera zooms in on a house number. 279. 

_ Beach Drive, _ Barry fills in, through a seasick drop in his gut. Safe Metas. The old Coast City safe house - before they moved out a couple of weeks ago, leaving the place empty.

The camera pans down to a man on the front porch, curled up and unconscious in nothing but… lightning-covered boxer shorts. His face is pale in the halogen light, painted with dirt and bruises like stage makeup. Black-and-blue torso. One leg bent at a strange angle. One arm slumped limp at his side, the fingers on the hand swollen, turned ghastly colors.

“Oh god,” Barry whispers. Cisco’s hand curls around his arm.

A voiceover plays across the last frozen image of Len, battered and broken on the porch. “ _ Did you like my little show, Flash? I know you’re a fan of the star. His part is done. Come and get him.” _

Reaching the end, the video jumps to auto-play, back to the beginning. Cisco slams the pause button. “Barry, you need to—”

Barry’s phone is ringing… Why is his phone ringing?

_ “Barry,” _ comes Jared’s voice. Clear and professional, with an edge to it.

Barry stares at the phone. 

Cisco grabs it out of his hand. “She sent us the same video.” His hand tightens on Barry’s arm. “He’s on his way.” He raises an eyebrow for confirmation.

Barry nods. He’s got one hand clamped over his mouth. He reaches out his other hand - shaking - for the phone. “Meet me there.”

He doesn’t wait for Jared’s answer. He doesn’t wait for Lisa to see the video. He doesn’t wait.

He runs, and runs, and prays to a God that, after the front row seat he’s had to a tragedy-ravaged world, he’s long stopped believing in… but Len hasn’t. 

_ Please let him be okay. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry brings Len home. He’s just happy to have him safely back with him, but Len’s recovery might not be as simple as he hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to RetroactiveCon for beta reading, and for RPing an early draft of one of the scenes in this chapter with me.

The run to Coast City usually takes Barry twenty minutes. This time, he does it in seven - and they’re still some of the longest minutes of his life.

It’s just Jared and a couple of people he doesn’t know at the new safe house. “I need to see him,” Barry demands. Politeness be fucked.

Jared looks doubtfully at him. “He’s not looking good.”

No way. Barry hasn’t run thousands of miles to be turned away. Hands on the counter, he faces the guy down. “Let me see Len.” 

Jared takes a step back. “Fine,  _ Flash,” _ he says, with a bitter edge. 

The flutter of guilt in Barry’s chest doesn’t last very long. He follows into a bare front room. Len -  _ oh god, Len _ \- is lying on the sofa, wrapped in a silver first-aid blanket, his eyes shut and his face a ghastly shade of grey, except where it’s turning all kinds of purples and blues. Barry flashes to his side, crouching down beside him. “Len,” he murmurs, taking his hand as gently as he can.

Len’s eyes flutter open… and close again.

Barry turns his head, barely looking at Jared. “I’m taking him to STAR Labs.”

Jared has the nerve to scoff at him. “What have you got at STAR Labs that the hospital doesn’t?”

“A doctor I trust,” Barry snaps back. “Medical equipment that most hospitals can’t even imagine—”

Shaking his head, Jared turns away. “I’m Leonard’s boss. I got a duty of care to him. You really think I’m letting you take him to the place you kept a bunch of metas in solitary confinement in your private prison?” Turning back, he takes a step towards Barry - probably a very brave move for him. Barry winces. “You want me to trust you, Barry? I know I can’t trust the people who work  _ there.”  _

So that’s the guy’s problem with him. Barry could argue that Team Flash’s limited choices over the Pipeline prison weren’t that simple. But from Jared’s perspective, that would probably only make Barry sound even less trustworthy. Barry bites back an angry curse. “Please. I need him to be okay—” 

The hand he’s holding squeezes his. “Do I get a say in this?” It’s barely a croak, but Barry hears him. 

Barry has to fight not to shout Len’s name - spooking him right now wouldn’t be ideal. But Len is awake. He’s  _ awake. _ Barry’s eyes cloud with tears as he reaches down to stroke his clammy face, carefully avoiding the bruises. “Of course you do, Len. Do you want to go to the hospital here in Coast City, or…?”

“No hospitals,” Len whispers. His hand trembles in Barry’s. “Take me home.”

“What?” Barry shakes his head. “You’re not going back to that awful motel right now. You need—”

“Scarlet,” Len interrupts. His eyes are fixed on Barry’s, as if he’s afraid of letting go. “Cabin. Bring Snow. Just… please. Take me home.”

The lake cabin. Len thinks of their weekend hideaway as  _ home. _ And he wants to be there with him. Barry nods, ignoring the tears rolling down his face. Len manages a weak smile before his eyes droop shut again.

Behind him, Jared asks, “Who’s Snow?” 

Len looks almost peaceful now. Barry watches his chest rising and falling, feels his warm hand in his own. He’s alive, and everything’s going to be okay. “Caitlin Snow - STAR Labs doctor. Len wants me to bring her and her equipment to my cabin.” He clears a watery throat and glances back over his shoulder. “It’s not far from here. You can check up on us. Maybe Frankie wouldn’t mind stopping by.”

Jared sighs and turns away. “I guess the man himself has spoken. No one argues with Captain Cold.” At the door, he shoots an imploring look back. “Take care of him, okay?”

Barry looks down at the man who, in less than a year, has become his reason - for running, for saving the world, for  _ being -  _ and realises that he’s holding Len’s hand against his heart. “I couldn’t do anything else.”

* * *

Len drifts in and out of sleep, but he always knows where his speedster is. 

Most of the time, he can feel Barry’s signature warmth on the bed beside him. Sometimes there’s a trembling hand on Len’s forehead, on his cheek. Once or twice Barry is over in the big armchair, reading a book, and he looks up and gives Len a damp smile, and asks how he’s doing. 

Len falls back to sleep before he can answer.

Once, he wakes up shaking, calling out for Barry, tugging at the IV in his wrist - it gets a judgemental tut from a suddenly-appearing Caitlin Snow. “Shh, he’s just downstairs,” she murmurs, as she reattaches his IV. “I think he passed out on the couch. Want me to wake him?”

Barry should get some sleep. Len shakes his head, glaring at the IV. “I’ve had worse than a broken leg, doc. You can turn down the painkillers, okay?”

“I’m hardly giving you any, Leonard.” Her voice is too gentle. That’s not how Snow talks to him. “You’re still sleeping off the effects of the drugs you were given while you were… away.” She looks sadly down at his bandaged hand, drawing attention to the throbbing in it.

He does the survival algebra. Admit he doesn’t remember what they did to his hand, and find out what’s wrong. Or don’t admit it, and freak out that he might never... “What happened?” he slurs, giving in.

Snow raises an eyebrow. “It looks like they rammed a sharp object through it,” she says - a welcome return of her usual directness. He doesn’t want anyone tiptoeing around him just because he got a few scrapes in a job gone wrong. “You don’t remember?”

Len doesn’t answer. Part of him really doesn’t want to ask, but he forces himself through the wall of fear. “Is it… bad? Permanent?”

She meets his eyes and shakes her head, and he can breathe again. “It’ll heal. I might have to set you up with some physical therapy, but you’ll be okay.”

Then there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing, while he watches her check his IV. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“For coming here. Looking after me. Favor to him, not me, I know, but...” She’s looking down at him, eyes narrowed, and he wants to be  _ honest,  _ and Barry Allen has ruined him. “Couldn’t have handled STAR Labs. Not— not in this state.”

She drops down to sit on the bed beside him. Her hand is on his shoulder. Too gentle. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “It was the stronghold of your enemies, not so long ago, right? It wouldn’t have felt like a safe place to you.” 

He blinks at the doc. He did  _ this _ to her, once. Dragged her to a warehouse, threatened her life - just to get the Flash’s attention. He craved it so much he didn’t care about the collateral damage. He should have. “I didn’t know,” he says, the urgency of oncoming sleep shattering his defenses. He needs to say it before the drugs are out of his system and he’s too scared ever to bring it up again.

She shakes her head. “Didn’t know what, Leonard?”

He reaches out with his uninjured hand to grasp hers. “I didn’t know what it was like. To be kidnapped... You must have been... scared...”

Her eyes are wide and sad. Too gentle. Darkness is falling, before he can tell her he’s sorry. As sleep takes him, he feels her squeeze his hand. “It’s okay, Leonard,” says her distant voice. “You were a different man then.” 

It’s not true - it will never be true - but her absolution washes him down the river to peaceful sleep.

* * *

Barry’s head hurts on the hard kitchen table, but he can’t lift it right now. In just a minute, he’s going to go upstairs and take care of Len. 

In just a minute.

There’s a hand on his back. “Barry,” says Caitlin’s soft voice.

“Huh?” He’d only let his eyes drift closed for a second. “How long have I been here?” Trying to stand up doesn’t get him far. He doesn’t know where he’s going to find the energy to flash up and to Len’s bedside…

“Hey.” Caitlin pushes him back down, taking a seat beside him. “Only an hour or so. Can I make you some tea, or…?” 

“An hour? Oh, god.” He rubs a hand down his face, brushing away dried tear tracks.  _ Anything _ could have happened to Len in an hour. “Is he okay?”

“He’s stable, and awake on and off.” Caitlin’s eyes flash with the barest hint of white. That’s still a little intimidating, years after Barry first met Frost. But it’s Caitlin’s voice that chides, “When I sent you off to get a break, I was hoping you’d rest somewhere more comfortable than this.”

“I need to stay awake.” Barry slumps further down in his chair. “Just till I know the drugs are out of his system.” She’s only trying to help, but it’s not what he needs. “I’ll sleep tonight, when he does. I promise.” He needs to prove he can take care of— well, of both of them. “I’m fine.”

“Fine, huh?” Caitlin echoes. “Have you slept at all in the twenty-four hours since you brought him back here? And for that matter, how much did you sleep in the two weeks Leonard was missing?” She’s staring Barry down with her unimpressed doctor expression. That look has been directed at Barry too many times, when he’s run himself into the ground to save lives, when he’s ignored pain and injury because other people matter more. Other people like Len. 

Barry shakes his head at the blue sky beyond the window. He’s sitting in his chair with the lake view, where he always sits, to eat pancake breakfasts and takeout pizza dinners, to make sandwiches for picnics, to ask Len if he needs any help burning the stir-fry, to laugh and listen to his stories and smile back when Len shoots Barry a secret little smile over his shoulder and calls him  _ my speedster _ . This kitchen, this cabin - it’s their little sanctuary, where nothing can hurt them. Len needs to feel that, when he wakes up properly, or what the hell is Barry here for at all? 

He meets Caitlin’s worried eyes. “I really appreciate you being here, Cait - you have no idea how much - and of course you can stay in the guest room if you want to keep an eye on us... But I need to be the one to look after him. He’s not going to open up to anyone else. If anything goes wrong—” He swallows and tries again. “I’ll call you the second anything goes wrong.”

Caitlin is wavering - he can see it in her eyes. 

“Please,” Barry whispers.

She nods, getting up and offering him her hand. “Come on then. I need to give you full instructions.” As he lets out a huff of relief, following her obediently upstairs, she adds over her shoulder, “I hope you’re your father’s son when it comes to this stuff. He’ll be in good hands if you are.” 

Her smile eases some of the tightness in his throat. Caitlin has always believed in him, and it always helps. He can do this. He can take care of Len.

* * *

Len wakes with Barry’s arms around him.

It’s dark outside. Must be late in the evening, but he’s lost track of time again. 

He stares up the ceiling, lit by the porch light below them, and counts the square tiles. 

When he’s counted them all, he counts every third. Then every fifth. Then he starts working on prime numbers. He has to abandon the ceiling and continue in his own head, but that’s okay. Just as long as he’s keeping count.

He keeps breathing. He can breathe as long as Barry’s arms are curled around him.

Seven minutes and twelve seconds later, a sleepy voice says, “Why can I hear counting?” 

_ Huh. _ He was doing that out loud, then. “Sorry.” He tries to turn his head to plant a kiss on Barry’s cheek, and gasps.

Barry is careful as he lets go of him, but he starts fussing immediately. He turns on a lamp, flooding the room with light, and Len suppresses a groan. _Too bright,_ _too bright._ He needs basement-dark. “What is it, Len? What hurts?” 

“Everything,” Len grates out. He’s clearly not very mobile. That’s going to be a problem. “Shift the blankets for me - wanna take a look at myself.” That nervous look from Barry can’t mean anything good, but Len just rolls his eyes. “I’m sure I’ve seen myself look worse, Barry.”

Sighing, Barry lifts the blanket. “Caitlin thought you might want to know what’s wrong. She gave me the list of injuries.” 

All things considered, Len’s battered old body doesn’t look that much worse than usual. Bruised to hell, but that’s hardly a new experience. Okay, so his torso is covered in stitched wounds, courtesy of Amunet’s metal shards, with some of them patched over with bandages, but those will just add to his well-earned collection of scars. He still doesn’t know exactly what she did to fuck up his bandaged left hand - he kind of lost track, by the end. The real surprise is his leg, not in a cast, just turning some exciting colors in a little stabilizing frame. “That was broken,” he murmurs. “I was sure of it.”

Barry smiles an oddly proud smile at him. “It was. Caitlin insisted on me bringing you to STAR Labs for a couple of hours, before we came here. She fixed it.” 

Len ignores the way his heart rate spikes at the new information. “I was out the whole time?” 

“Thanks to the drugs the kidnappers gave you,” Barry says, his low, quiet voice betraying more feeling than he needs to waste on Len. “And Caitlin’s painkillers on top of it all.”

Well, that’s not ideal… but it’s in the past. Right now his priority is to figure out how mobile he is. He nods at his leg. “It feels like it’s healed.”

Barry reaches down to run his hand gently over the leg. Len forces himself to hold still, but all he feels is rising gooseflesh. “It nearly is,” Barry says in an awed tone. “You just have to take it slowly for a couple of days. Caitlin has spent the last few years developing technology that can replace bone matrix. It speeds up healing time from weeks to days.” He reaches up bashfully to rub his neck, a little smile giving away pride. “The tech’s a result of years of medical testing on yours truly.” 

Of course his miraculous speedster would be the reason why Len is now healing at superhuman speeds. “Guess you save me again, Scarlet.” He takes a minute to share a smile with Barry. Then he glances down at his bandaged hand, and away to the carpet squares.  _ Two, three, five…  _ “But there’s nothing she can do about the hand?”

“Tendon damage. That takes longer. The shard wounds are the big problem. Some of them are— infected.” Barry nods at the IV. “Caitlin’s set you up with antibiotics. She’ll need to come back to check those in the next couple of days. And she told me to make sure you take painkillers, even though, and I quote, ‘If I know your boyfriend, he  _ will _ refuse to take anything that makes him feel woozy, so you might have to force him.’”

Len chuckles. His eyes scan back down the stitched wounds. The earliest cuts look like the infected ones, near both his shoulders. Explains the burning in them, towards the end of his little visit with Blacksmith and her gang. “Where is she?” he asks, meaning Caitlin. “Should really thank her for letting me come here.” He turns onto his side, still giving his own body the once-over.

“Hotel for the night.” Careful arms wrap around him from behind, and Len can feel Barry’s head resting on the back of his shoulders. It’s nice. “I asked her to give us space.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” Len says, wondering why deep, warm relief is flooding through him. 

He’s home. Just him and Barry. Everything’s okay.

“So,” Barry says quietly. “How are you feeling?”

Len finally drags his eyes away from the mess that is his body, and pulls away to look at Barry. He’s pale, with dark circles under his red eyes. Len would shrug, if it didn’t hurt. “More worried about you.”

Barry sighs. “Don’t you start.” He slides down onto his back, dragging the blankets over them both. “Can we just rest for a bit? You need it. We can talk about everything tomorrow. We’re gonna need to set you up to talk to Safe Metas... and maybe the cops... and...” Barry trails off, yawning. 

After more than a day asleep, Len doesn’t know why he needs yet more rest. Barry’s the one who needs the sleep. Len can just stay here with him. But Barry closes his eyes, and Len follows. Maybe figuring things out can wait till morning. He’ll just stay here, with his speedster, his Scarlet. Safe.

* * *

_ He’s lying on the floor of Amunet’s basement, exhausted and silent. “It’s just a name, sweetie,” she says, and throws another shard of metal.  _

_ He’s lying on the floor of the Santini mansion, seething and silent. “I think he can take a little more, boys,” Santini says to his flunkies, and they start in on him again.  _

_ He’s lying on the ground in the street, bleeding out from a bullet wound, shivering and silent. “He went the other way,” a cop yells, and the footsteps disappear away down the alley.  _

_ He’s lying on the floor of his childhood house, silent. His father doesn’t say a word either. _

_ He’s crouching over Barry’s body, staring at the icicle shot through his chest. Barry opens his eyes and laughs. “All you had to do was keep quiet.” Barry reaches out a frozen hand and shakes him by the shoulder. “Wake up, Len—”  _

“Len, wake up.” 

He opens his eyes into pitch black and he’s back in that basement and he struggles against the flunkie holding him down and it hurts— 

“Len, stop! It’s me!” 

Barry.  It’s Barry’s arms, holding him. Len shoves him away. “Sorry,” he mutters. 

“Are you okay?” In the dark, Barry’s voice sounds worried. 

Len runs a hand over his head, gulping in warm air that smells too much like whatever the doc cleaned his wounds with. “I need some air. Can you help me out to the balcony?” 

A low lamp flickers on. There’s an odd quiver in Barry’s voice when he says, “Sure.” 

“Not fast,” Len warns. Barry wouldn’t speed him anywhere right now, but Len’s not taking any chances like this. 

Len leans on him for a few harrowing steps, Barry murmuring “Easy,” and “Careful,” until finally he lowers Len onto the decking of the bedroom’s little balcony, dropping down next to him. Len slumps back against the wall, closing his eyes and drawing in deep breaths. His heart is still going like a speedster’s. 

“Nightmare?” Barry asks gently. 

Opening his eyes, Len nods. “Nothing serious.” 

“Sure. Looked it,” Barry deadpans into the darkness.

“The fresh air helps.” Freezing things out and burying them underground - that’s the only way Len knows how to deal with the kind of shit that will always come back to bite him in the ass. No matter how much he thinks he’s escaped his past, with a good man who has too much faith in him.

Barry smiles sadly into the darkness. “Look, Len… I know you might not be ready to talk. But if you are, I can handle it. I’m not going to break because you share things with me.”

It takes Len a minute to process what Barry said. “Break?” He turns his head to take in his sleepy speedster, bed hair standing up in all directions. In the soft glow of the lamp light behind them, Barry looks young and innocent. Len knows all too well that he’s neither of those things. “You don’t break, Scarlet. And I could never think you were weak for talking. The way you’re willing to face things is… incredible.” Not like Len, who just buries his issues deep underground, praying they never crawl their way back up to the light.

He’s not strong like Barry.

Barry catches his hand, holds it tight. Len follows his gaze into the darkness. Somewhere down there is the lake where he and Barry have spent a summer full of long weekends, full to the brim and overspilling with laughter - swimming, fishing, hanging out on the lake shore. Len even got hold of a little row boat a few weeks ago. For a pair of city kids with no one to teach them how to row, that’s meant a lot of giggling and falling in the water. And a damp Barry clambering back over the side of the boat after a smirking Len pushed him in, saying, “I love you, you complete asshole,” in his Unimpressed Flash Voice. 

Len feels freer out here than he ever knew he could. He’s  _ talked  _ more than he ever thought he could, with no one to judge him but Barry, who’s long proven that he never will. 

But Len can’t talk now.

“Well.” Barry shifts on the hard decking. “Caitlin wants you up and about on that leg, while I’m able to keep an eye on you.” He glances at Len, something wary in his eyes. “You’ll let me take care of you, right?”

It’s such a sweet request, and Len doesn’t know why it rankles. Len  _ asked _ to come to the cabin. “Thank you for bringing me here. You must have had to organise time off work...” Barry would fetch him the moon and never tell Len he owes him. 

“How could I do anything less?” There’s a hurt little look in Barry’s eyes. “I should have known something was wrong so much earlier. It took me  _ days _ to realize you’d been...” He sighs, heavy and painful. “Of course I have to look after you.”

That’s the most ridiculous thing Len’s ever heard, and so very Barry Allen, he could cry. “What? Barry, this was  _ not _ your fault…” But the look in Barry’s eyes, as he gazes down into the darkness, tells Len this is not the time to argue about that.

_ I have to look after you _ echoes in his head. 

After a few minutes of quiet, nothing but the sound of the wind across the lake and a distant miaow from Ruby the cat, Len extends a reluctant hand towards Barry. “Mind helping me back to bed?”

Barry’s eyes narrow as he helps Len up. “Have you got enough pain medication? Caitlin can come back if you need—”

“I’m fine,” Len interrupts. He leans on Barry, huffing in pain. 

The shared laughter at the obvious lie is kind of a relief. “Sure you are,” Barry says, with an impish grin.

“Okay, not  _ fine _ fine.” He swallows at the look in Barry’s eyes. Right. Honesty policy. “I’m not good at being out of control. And - they drugged me.” Len’s gaze drops to the decking, and the dark things moving under there. “I just need to stay clear-headed right now, okay? It’s all I’ve got.”

“I know,” Barry agrees softly. He helps Len back into the bedroom, chattering about nothing just to cheer Len up. Tired out and stumbling by the time they reach the bed, Len lets go of Barry, aiming for it on his own… and misses.

He collapses in a heap on the carpet, yelling out in pain. And it’s too  _ fucking much. _ All he wanted was his weekly routine of taking his nightmares out into the cold and freezing the problem. He’s a broken mess and a burden on the most wonderful guy he’s ever loved, who’s fussing around Len like a sweetheart, even now. 

Len draws his knees up to his chest. And maybe he can be forgiven for being weak, at three in the morning. He sobs.

"You're okay," Barry says, from somewhere nearby. "I'm here.” He gathers Len into his arms and holds him like a child. 

It’s been a long time since Len felt safe enough to cry into someone’s shoulder. It could only ever have been Barry. The more he lets go against Barry, the more Len can feel how exhausted he is, after two weeks in that fucking place. It’s no excuse for forcing Barry to look after him, but he can’t do anything else. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

“It’s okay,” Barry whispers, holding him tight. "I know it sucks. I wish you didn't have to go through it, but you do, or it’ll all just build up till it tears you apart.”

Barry is speaking from painful experience, Len remembers. Except, he  _ doesn’t _ remember. He wasn’t there when Barry was recovering from his own kidnapping, the one that was Len’s fault. Len turned tail and ran like a coward. He left Barry alone. With this.

“You deserve better,” he mutters into Barry’s shoulder. 

Barry freezes against him. When he speaks, there’s hurt in every word. “It’s not about what either of us  _ deserves, _ Len. It’s about what we choose. I choose to be here with you, with everything you’re going through.” Len hears him drag in a deep breath, pulling him closer. “It’s your choice whether you’re gonna accept that.”

The words kick Len out of the self-pitying place in his head that he’s all too familiar with wallowing in. He pulls away. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, Barry looks beyond exhausted. Two weeks, Barry spent looking for him, barely sleeping, not slowing down till he found him. Len needs to be better for this hero. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pulling Barry back into his arms, feeling him let out a breath against Len. “That was shitty of me. I just... You’re suffering because of me.”

“No. This is not your fault,” Barry says, low and dangerous. “All you did was try to make the world a bit safer for people with no other hope. Amunet’s the one you should be blaming. She played Frankie and she hurt you.” 

Len shakes his head. He doesn’t know why everything he doesn’t want to talk about is pouring out at once. But Barry means safety, and it’s dark, and it’s three in the morning. “I ran in after Frankie without any backup.” He swallows, and it hurts. “I gave them your name, Barry. That’s on me.” 

He betrayed Barry, like he promised he never would again. For that, Len deserves everything he got.

Barry shakes his head hard. “Len, you were drugged and they tortured you, and then they brought in  _ Psyche.  _ It wasn’t your fault.” He sighs, running a hand through unruly bed hair. “I don’t even know why Amunet would want me. All I do as the Flash is put metas in prison, where they’re easy pickings for black market dealers like her—”

“She wanted to break me,” Len interrupts.  _ And look how well she did. _

Barry squeezes Len’s hand. “And it took, what, two weeks? Len, you fought for me.”

Len just shrugs against Barry. “Well, she got all her dark little heart’s desires, didn’t she?” One more time, he reaches out a hand. “Help me up?” This time, he doesn’t feel quite as much of a villain for asking.

“Of course,” Barry says, without even thinking about it, because he’s sweet and good. Still too good for Len.

It takes too long to get Len settled back in bed, and everything hurts again. But Barry is right there, curling himself gently around Len, holding on like he’s never going to let go.

“Thanks,” Len says. He means it for much more than being helped to bed. 

“Always.” Barry kisses his shoulder. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”

That’s all that matters, Len lies to himself.

(Len manages not to look at the figure on the ceiling until Barry is snoring beside him. Then, finally, he stares up at the hallucination, lit by a spark of lightning at the end of its fingers. “Aren’t you two sweet?” not-Barry drawls, with a smirk that doesn’t belong on that face. “When you’re done being a helpless cry-baby, we should talk.”

“Fuck off,” Len murmurs. He forces himself to roll over and close his eyes. Not-Barry’s eerie laughter echoes in his head for a long time before he falls asleep.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len just wants a little break from reality in the cabin, with Barry, for a little longer. But he can’t control anything that goes on outside that little oasis... and reality is about to catch up with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to RetroactiveCon for beta reading.

As soon as Barry wakes, he can tell there’s an empty space next to him. 

He sticks a foot out of bed and shivers. They need to do something about the cold, if they’re going to keep coming up here after the fall. Barry was hoping they’d have a plan for winter weekends by now, somewhere to go that doesn’t get quite so chilly, but maybe they should think about replacing the old central heating system. Barry smiles out at the early autumn colors in the trees beyond the window. Maybe coming up here through the winter would be a nice change from Central City’s entire lack of seasons.

There’s a clatter from downstairs.

Barry _runs._

He stops up short in the kitchen. Len is standing at the stove, nodding wryly down at the empty pan still spinning at his feet. “Good morning, Barry. I seem to have dropped something.” He peeks back up with the cutest apologetic grin.

Chuckling, Barry sets the pan back on the counter. “You shouldn’t be cooking, with your hand still bad, Len,” he chides. “You couldn’t wake me?” He’s not about to give away that he doesn’t really mind. Seeing Len smiling is too much of a relief, after the past week, with its nightmares and long silences.

Len shrugs. “Wanted to surprise you with our customary pancakes. But I think I might need you to cook them… Sorry.” 

Barry frowns at the brief return of the distant, hopeless tone that he’s been hearing in Len’s voice for a week. 

But it’s fleeting. Len’s smile is already back. “But I’ll just have to watch you put your own unique spin on them, won’t I?” Gazing at Barry for a moment, Len crooks a finger at him. “Kiss me?”

Barry isn’t about to say no to that. He flashes forward and cups Len’s cheek. His face is still a little pale, with the last of the yellow bruises fading from his temple, but that smirk is just what Barry needs to see there. He leans in to kiss Len softly. “I love you,” he murmurs against his lips.

When he pulls away, Len’s eyes are twinkling. “I love you too, Scarlet.” Len drops onto a stool, nodding at the eggs and flour on the kitchen island. “Do a bit of that ‘cooking is just chemistry’ magic of yours.” He winks.

“You can’t flatter me into waiting on you hand and foot,” Barry pretends to complain, just to enjoy Len’s laugh. He’s not disappointed.

As Barry mixes up the pancake batter, Len watches with his elbow propped up on the table, chin in his hand, gazing at Barry like he’s his salvation. It’s all such a delightful shift of mood that Barry laughs.

“What?” Len murmurs. 

Barry shakes his head, grinning back at him. “Nothing. I love you.”

“And, again, I love you.” Len tilts his head. “Want to see if I can manage a boat ride today? If you can handle rowing alone.” He lifts his still-bandaged hand in apology. Barry thinks he sees a flicker of - something - across Len’s face, but it’s gone too fast to figure out. Even for Barry.

“That sounds great.” He grabs a fresh pan, throwing the dropped one into the sink, and pours in the first of the batter. Speed does pancakes no favors, he has learned on more than one frustrating occasion. “You seem to be feeling better.”

Len beams a truly happy smile back at him. “I am.” With a look up towards the window, he adds, “It looks like it’s going to be a lovely day.”

Barry glances up at the fall foliage just beyond the kitchen window, dappled in morning sunlight. Then he turns back to Len, whose whole face is still lit up with that adorable smile. “Yeah. I think it might be.”

“One sec,” Len murmurs as his phone beeps. Barry is watching as he checks it. He sees the moment when that old, once-familiar look hardens Len’s face. 

Len’s been taking a lot of calls from work, the past few days. Barry’s been trying not to ask what’s going on - he knows by now that Safe Metas stuff is none of the Flash’s business - but he hopes they’re not rushing Len back to work. 

“Sorry.” Len pockets his phone a moment later. “Where were we? Ah yes. Boating on the lake.”

Barry narrows his eyes at him. “Everything okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve got my favorite guy, pancakes for breakfast, and a lake on a gorgeous fall day.” Len bounces his eyebrows at Barry. “Maybe this afternoon we can enjoy the nice big bed upstairs, hmm?”

“You’re injured!” Shaking his head, Barry flips the pancakes. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

Len’s smirk is far too endearing. “We’re two very creative guys. I’m sure we can work around things.” 

Barry laughs. “Let’s take one thing at a time, huh? Pancakes first.”

“Pancakes first.” He gives Barry the cutest look ever seen on Leonard Snart’s face.

“Go set the table,” Barry orders, now far too busy adoring his boyfriend to worry.

Grinning, Len does as he’s told.

* * *

“I want you to know I think this is a terrible idea,” Barry says. He’s biting a nail, eyes scanning Len’s body, as if he’s going to see something new there.

They’re standing outside the cabin, beside the car Barry decided to rent for Len. Apparently he felt bad that Len wouldn’t be able to ride his bike for a while. He just didn’t think of asking if Len drives, first.

(Len can drive, technically. He just prefers not to. Unless someone is on fire.)

“So you said.” Len thumbs at the car. “Well, I’m going, so you got three options. You can run me there, you can drive me there, or you can let me get behind the wheel and see just how much chaos and fire I cause.” He hopes his smirk is cute enough for him to get away with this. He’s on the verge of calling Mick and insisting he tells Barry some of his _Leonard Snart’s adventures behind the wheel of a car_ stories. He never shuts up about how Len once nearly killed him on the I-90 just outside Chicago. It’s almost all exaggeration, but Mick tells it like a horror story.

Barry laughs and leans in to kiss Len, who graciously lets him. Cuteness factor achieved, then. “Why do I love you?” Barry asks in a put-upon tone.

“The perennial question.” Len folds his arms. He knows how to win an argument with Barry. Waiting out a speedster’s patience - it never fails. “So, you’ll be running me to Coast City, then?”

Sighing, Barry inclines his head so Len can throw his arms around his neck. “If I hurt your leg jostling you, Caitlin is going to kill me.”

Len kisses his cheek. “Then you’ll have to be careful, speedster mine.” He taps Barry’s shoulder. “Onward!”

The complaint, “I’m not a horse, Len,” is mostly drowned out by the wind and the crackle of lightning.

“There,” Barry says, five terrifying minutes later, setting Len gently down.

Len’s jacket is up around his arms - he shrugs it back on, grateful once again that he doesn’t have any hair to fix. “Still better than the car,” he mutters. 

He doesn’t look around yet. That seasick-speed feeling is fading, making room for a whole other jittery feeling. He takes a slow, deep breath. 

Barry looks doubtfully up at the new Safe Metas house. If Len were a better man, that protective look would be comforting. Because he’s not, it stirs up a mean flare of resentment. Len doesn’t need looking after. He can do his damn job. 

“When do you want me to come back?” Barry is asking.

“An hour.” When he doesn’t move, Len raises an eyebrow. “Go get a coffee. I’ll be fine, Barry.” He holds up crossed fingers, winking. “I promise.” For his trouble, he gets rolled eyes, another kiss, and a murmured _be safe._ And then Len’s little refuge from reality goes up in a flare of lightning.

Len stares up at the shabby apartment block rising above him. One week was more than enough time for moping. Now he’s got shit to do.

He makes it slowly to the top of the stairs without getting too winded, and heads inside.

Frankie Kane beams at him from reception. “Len!”

Len’s instinct is to call her a _little idiot_ and ask her what the hell she was playing at, letting Amunet take advantage of her, dragging the whole of Safe Metas into this mess. He clamps his jaw shut. She’s got to be feeling all of that already. And it wasn’t Frankie who was the idiot here, he tells himself. It’s a relief when his inner voice doesn’t snap back. “How are you, Frankie?” he asks.

“I’m okay.” She looks like she is, too, bright-eyed and sipping on a coffee as she works through a pile of paperwork. 

The certainty that Len did the right thing, going in after her, is a strange kind of relief. He leans back against the counter. “I heard you were half the reason I was rescued,” he says, with an attempt at a grateful smile.

Frankie grins back. “Least I could do, after you were the entire reason I was.”

Len shrugs like it was nothing. “Jared around?”

She’s buried in her paperwork again. “In the kitchen, talking to Sofía.” 

Briefly, Len pauses. Sofía’s here. That could be a bad sign. “Thanks,” he says, with a rap of his hands against the counter, and heads in the direction of the kitchen.

“—got to consider giving in to her demands,” Sofía is saying, as Len opens the door. “Leonard. Good. Have a seat.” 

Len sits down at the big table, nodding at Jared. The poor kid looks exhausted. “Nice to see you too, Sofía,” Len drawls. “I’m fine after my kidnapping. Thanks for asking.”

Sofía pats his shoulder, chuckling. “Glad to hear it.”

Right down to business, then. “You two had better not be thinking about acquiescing to Black’s _requests.”_ Len’s tone is already as cold as ice. He leans into it.

Jared shove a file towards him. “Tell me we’ve got any other choice, old man.”

The report is only a day old. Len isn’t sure he understands what he’s reading. “What the hell? You went in there to free the metas, and they attacked you?” He glances at Sofía for an explanation.

She grimaces. “You should have seen the carnage, Leonard.” She gets up, striding away to the coffee machine. Len knows her well enough to know she’s angrier than Mick Rory on a bad day, but she does a good job of hiding it. “The casino was using trafficked metas with mind-control powers. They kept people playing at tables for days, losing the whole time. We thought the metas wanted out…” Sofía cuts off, hands braced on the counter.

“They turned on you,” Len summarizes, to save her from having to finish the story. He turns a page in the file, revealing crime scene photos. Distantly, he wonders if he’s about to throw up. 

“Not us,” Jared says softly. “Aled and Noor.”

Len shoves his shaking hands under the table. “Are they okay?”

“They’ll live,” Sofía says, in the most dangerous voice Len’s ever heard from her. “The metas weren’t so lucky. They were triggered, Leonard.”

There isn’t _time_ for any of this technical meta shit that Len never understood anyway. He snaps, “What does that mean?”

Jared answers for her. “A psychic trigger,” He’s staring at the tabletop, working his jaw hard. “Probably don’t even know they’re going to turn on us, till they do.” He snarls. “One more weapon in Black’s war against us.”

Len freezes. “Blacksmith did this?”

Sofía nods. “With her psychic friend. What did you call her, Jared?”

Len doesn’t need to wait for the answer. A week of doing nothing has atrophied his brain, but he’s finally catching on. “Psyche,” he growls. That’s why Amunet sprung her from prison. “She’s programming all Black’s metas to kill if we get near them.”

Amunet is making sure Safe Metas never rescue another meta again.

“Gotta assume it’s all of them, yeah.” Jared spreads his hands. “You’re the strategy guy, Len. What would you do?”

_Kill her._

Len breathes slowly, ignoring the hallucination in the empty chair.

“I sure as hell wouldn’t do what Black says,” he manages, finally, but there’s no conviction in his voice.

For Len, the math has always been simple. Do a little good in the world. Turn those skills he learned in his messy past to better use. Help some poor metahuman bastards who need someone in their corner. Make Barry proud. 

And it wasn’t like it ever hurt him, was it?

The balance just swung in the wrong direction.

“Len,” Jared murmurs, “you’re shaking. You need something to eat?”

Len ignores him. “Sofía.” She’s already at his side, crouched by the table. Convenient. “You set this place up to protect people.” He glances down into her worried eyes. She should look a hell of a lot more nervous than that. “You gotta put your people first. Get them out of here and safe in Central City. Fuck the other metas.”

“That’s your job you’re trashing, man.” Jared is staring at him like he doesn’t know who he’s talking to. 

Sofía just looks like she wants to throw him out.

Len almost laughs out loud. This shouldn’t be a shock to either of them. They knew they were working with Captain Cold. 

“Screw the job,” Len says.

And walks out.

Barry finds Len sitting on the sidewalk, forty-five minutes later. He smiles. “You’re out already! I thought I was early.”

Len flicks a piece of gravel off the little pile he’s built. “Nope.”

Frowning, Barry drops down next to him. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” Len flicks another dirty gray stone into the road, to be trampled by feet and buried by cars. “Ready to take us home?”

Barry always looks so happy when Len says _home_ about the cabin. He gets up, offering Len a hand. “Of course.”

Len takes his time standing, giving himself one last look up at the Safe Metas building. It always looked like it was about to topple to the ground if one of the metas coughed wrong. Now he stares at the rickety outdoor stairs running up to the first floor, the front door ready to fall off its hinges, the broken window patched with flimsy cardboard. 

They’re all fucked. And there’s nothing Len can do about it, except leave them to their foolishness, and pray.

He takes Barry’s hand. “Come on. I wanna bake cookies and watch Star Wars.”

Barry grins. “Sounds amazing.” He breaks into a run, and Len holds on. 

He’s going to hold on for as long as he can.

* * *

Leonard lies in the darkness, groggy and awake. His own fault. He keeps taking daytime naps like he’s still injured, when he’s fine. At this rate, he’ll never be alert enough during the day. And that could let in all kinds of threats. 

_Why are you worrying about threats?_ not-Barry says, from his perch up near the ceiling. _You’re in an idyllic little cabin in the woods with your boyfriend. You’ve got nothing to do but relax._

Whenever he can’t sleep, Len counts steps. He visualizes the journey from his childhood house to his grandfather’s house. He got to know the walk pretty well, especially after his father got out of prison, when little Leo walked the three mile journey most afternoons. Usually, he falls asleep before he reaches the corner of his street. 

But he’s barely left his front yard, in his imagination, before not-Barry laughs. _I guess you might see a raccoon. That’d give you something to chase off with your gun. That’s about all you’re good for these days, isn’t it?_

Len drags himself up. He grabs the crutch leaning against his nightstand - just in case he needs it - and heads outside.

It’s better here. The stars are out, lonely pinpricks of light from long-dead giants. A different pattern of constellations than in his own Central City sky, but brighter, laid out in vivid splotches across the open sky. Len knows the way to the lake in the dark. Laying himself down on the grassy bank, he listens to the faint splash of water against the shore, and feels the ground holding him up, on an earth spinning through the universe faster than the Flash can run. 

_Why are you just sitting here?_ asks a voice that is not Barry’s voice. 

Clearly, ignoring the hallucination isn’t working tonight. “I’m lulling myself back to fucking sleep,” Len snaps. Not-Barry lights himself up with a click of his fingers and a spark of lightning. Familiar Flash suit, familiar face - all of it horribly wrong. “Wanna tell me what you’re doing here?”

_Encouraging you._

Len throws up a hand at the figment of his imagination. “To do what, exactly?” 

Not-Barry is wearing that shit-eating grin that tells Len he’s not real. Barry would never look at him like that. _Anything. You just spent two weeks being tortured, and then you ran away from Safe Metas so you didn’t have to watch your friends burn._ The hallucination laughs. _Not even the first time you’ve done that, is it?_

Len’s growl echoes around the lake.

_And now you’re hiding out in a cozy cabin. You’re stuck, Cold._

There’s nothing here but the wind in the trees and the water against the dock. 

_Hiding from Barry, too, I see._

“I’m not interested in what a hallucination thinks of my relationship.” 

_Please. I’m the product of your shattered little mind. If anyone knows your lies, it’s you._

If this guy was real, Len would be killing him right about now. “I’m not lying to him,” he bites out. “He just doesn’t need me bothering him with my...” 

_With your self-pitying crap about not being good enough for him? Or your idle fantasies about taking out Amunet and her crew?_ Not-Barry lies back against the ground, grinning up at the night sky. _Well, if ever there was a way to prove you’re not worthy of him, that’ll do it._

Len lays back against the warm, damp grass, sinking into it, literally grounding him.

 _Maybe it’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had,_ not-Barry adds. _I mean, Safe Metas ain’t gonna listen to you. Might as well do ‘em all a favor._

Len sees the lightning coming before it reaches him, lighting up the night. Which means Barry is going as slowly as he can. Sweet of him, really. “Hey, Scarlet,” he says, when Barry skids to a stop on the grass beside him. “What brings you out here on this fine night?”

“Checking on you.” Barry settles down next to him on the grass. He takes out his phone, turning on the flashlight and placing it between them. 

“I told you. Night air’s good for me.” He reaches out his hand. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

Barry slips his hand into Len’s, following his gaze towards the dark lake. “Busy head.”

“I know that one,” Len murmurs. It’s a mistake. Barry looks back at Len like he’s worried about him. No worrying the cute speedster. For something pleasant to say, Len asks, “Was that Iris you were on the phone with this evening?”

Barry nods. “She gave me an idea.” Slowly, like he’s trying to be careful how he phrases this, he says, “You still want to stay here for a while, right?”

“For now.” They’ve talked about this. Barry has taken two weeks off work, claiming he needed to use up some vacation days anyway. Len doesn’t know if that’s true, or if he’s wrangled time off another way, and he’s not asking. If he digs too deep, he’ll end up telling Barry to go back to Central City and leave him here. And he can’t be alone. “How would you feel about bringing some visitors up here?” Barry goes on. “Like Iris? Or maybe Mick and Lisa...”

_We have your sister._

Overhead, an owl hoots. Len wonders how he’d feel if Lisa saw him in his current less-than-peak condition. Maybe not great. But then, the last time Len saw his sister, she was the leading lady in a surround-sound torture vision designed to drive him round the twist enough to betray his lover. Seeing that she’s okay might be good for him. “Sure,” he murmurs. “Any of them.” Might as well let the whole clown parade stare at him all at once. Get it over with. 

_Good idea,_ pipes up the fucking hallucination, lounging back on the grass under his own lightning glow. _Mick and Lisa. The original and best Rogues._

“That’s great,” the actual, one-and-only Barry is saying. “Iris said she could stay tomorrow night. I can see if Lisa and Mick can make it for the weekend?” He’s beaming like Len’s done something right. 

“Sure,” Len repeats, more certain now. He’d put up with more than a few visitors in exchange for that sweet smile. It’s all that matters.

Not-Barry twists his mouth in a lazy, conspiratorial grin. _Now, what do the Rogues do best?_ _Thieving, back-stabbing, a bit of organised crime..._ He turns his head to look Len dead in the eye. _And revenge._

Len stops ignoring him. 

Actual Barry gets up, offering Len his hand and a warm, “Let’s go to bed.” 

As they head back to the cabin, a voice in Len’s head says, _Think about it._

He turns his head to look for the glowing hallucination, but it’s already gone.

* * *

Iris parks up next to a beaten-up motorcycle that might be Leonard’s. It’s in worse condition than when she last saw it, and she tries not to think about why. Otherwise, the cabin is as quiet and idyllic as ever, sun sparkling off the lake and crows calling from the high trees. 

As she approaches the door, Barry throws it open, runs out and hugs her like he hasn’t seen her for months. “It’s been a week, Barr,” she laughs into his chest, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “Good to see you too.” 

She lets him lead her into the house, babbling excitedly the whole way, bless him. “How was your drive?” he asks, as they go into the kitchen. “You know I could have picked you up.” 

“Oh, fine.” Iris has only been here once, briefly, when Barry brought her up here to say hi to Henry. There’s still sobering evidence all over the cabin of his life here, in the furniture he bought and the Allen family photos on the mantelpiece. But there’s a lot of Barry and Leonard in the place now, too - more recent photos featuring the two of them, a leather jacket slung over the back of a chair. “And it’s a good chance to visit Linda in Coast City.” 

She pauses, raising her eyebrows at the other piece of evidence of Barry’s relationship with Len - the man himself, lounging against the kitchen counter like he doesn’t have a care in the world, though the bruises fading from his face tell a different story. “Hi, Leonard.”

“Iris.” He tilts his head at her in that wry way of his. “Barry said you chose Linda over us to stay with. I’m deeply offended.” 

His grin says otherwise, and Iris laughs. She hesitates at throwing her arms around him, but she steps up to kiss him on the cheek. “Oh, stop complaining. I’m staying here tonight. You don’t want me taking up your space for the rest of the weekend. And I hear Lisa’s coming.” Iris grins. “She makes me nervous.”

Len chuckles. “She has that effect on most people.”

“I’ll take your bag upstairs,” Barry says. Iris turns to tell him she can do it, but he’s already on the first step - going at a very conspicuous human pace. 

When she turns back around, she sees Leonard clocking the same thing. “Subtle, isn’t he?” he murmurs, once Barry is more or less out of earshot. His drawl and charming smile are the same as ever, but he’s leaning hard on his crutch, and there’s something about his eyes. There’s a light missing from them. And they keep flickering over to somewhere on the other side of the room, like he’s looking at something there. But when she glances in that direction, there’s nothing to see.

Iris smiles back. “He seems to want you to talk to someone who isn’t him.” Well, that is the reason she’s here. That, and to support Barry a little. “How are you, Leonard?”

She sees the brief drop of his gaze to the floor tiles, the fade of his grin. And how he fixes it back on again. “Oh, fine.”

“Really?” She feels her eyebrows climbing. 

He takes a breath, his muscles tensing, like he’s thinking of blowing her off - and then his shoulders slump. Followed by the rest of him, dropping onto a stool at the kitchen island. “Forgive me if I can’t manage coffee.” There’s a self-deprecating edge to his voice as he nods at his crutch.

“I’m on it.” Iris moves to the cupboard for mugs. Ignoring Leonard’s hand raised in protest, she adds, “I can figure out where everything is. This is Barry’s kitchen - he’s as predictable as they come. Well, apart from the secret superhero identity. Can you believe I didn’t guess that for months?”

Leonard snorts, visibly relaxing as he does. “You just know him too well.”

“That too.” 

Sure enough, mugs, coffee capsules and milk are all exactly where she expects them to be. The two of them share a surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes, only broken so she can check that Leonard takes his coffee with more milk and sugar than Iris thinks is respectable. She seems to remember that sugar debate being the way Leonard and Barry met.

“It was,” he confirms, as Iris sits down across the island from him. “He was accusing me of having the sweet tooth of a small child, with my fondness for the themed Captain Cold drink - except I don’t actually like it very much.” He tilts his head conspiratorially. “There’s a limit on how much sugar even I can handle.”

Iris grins. “So.” She sees his gaze slide away with her return to a serious tone. “You’re fine, huh?”

“Been better,” he drawls, after the briefest of terse silences. Iris didn’t think she’d break him down that easily. “I should probably send Barry home, but…”

She raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t want to be alone?” Another guilty shift of his eyes. “That’s allowed, Leonard. You know Barry _wants_ to help, right?” When he’s silent, she tries again. “As long as you’re taking some time to recover.”

“Doing my best,” he murmurs, glancing towards the afternoon sun glinting in through the window. “The lake is nice. Quiet.”

He sounds so distant, as if only half of him is really present. “You know we’re all here for you, right, Leonard?” she says softly. When he tilts his head, she almost adds, _Barry’s family and friends,_ before she realises that’s not nearly the whole truth. Not anymore. “Your friends… your family. Team Flash, the Wests, me.” 

She gets the barest eyebrow raise back, but he doesn’t disagree. It’s something. 

Knowing when she’s pushed as much as he’ll let her, Iris props up her chin on her hand. “So, what do you have planned for when you’re better? What’s going on with Safe Metas?”

Something hard and cold crosses his face, an echo of who he used to be. It’s a little unsettling. Leonard looks up at her, as if he’s weighing what to say. “I’m—” 

Iris doesn’t get to hear what he is. In a flash of lightning, Barry reappears behind him, wrapping his arms around Leonard from behind and grinning at Iris. “What, no coffee for me?”

Leonard turns his head to look at Barry with a sincere, hopeful smile. Iris could be easily fooled that he was fine, if that smile was all she had seen of him today. Something’s not right here… but she doesn’t comment. She just gestures to the mug of black coffee by the machine. “We nearly gave up on you entirely. Were you making my bed from scratch?”

Barry mutters about having had something to finish. Unsubtle indeed. Leonard catches his hand and tugs him down onto a stool. While Barry chatters happily to Iris, Leonard just gazes at him with quiet adoration. 

Iris gives up trying to put her finger on what’s wrong. She’s just glad they have each other.

* * *

After dinner, the three of them spend the evening in the living room, sharing a bottle of wine. Len is barely taking any painkillers anymore, but he still restricts himself to one glass, on doctor’s orders. 

(“I’m sure it’s fine, Len. You had one pill at nine in the morning, and your doctor is one of my best friends. You can totally text and ask if you can have another.”

“I’m good, Barry.”)

Len gives in to Iris’s persistent questions - damn journalists - and ends up telling her a little about Safe Metas. More than he’s even told Barry yet. He tells them how the team is about to relocate, again. No, they’re not leaving the city. No, they don’t know how to protect themselves if Amunet finds them.

Len does not answer Barry’s question about whether he wants to go back to his job. 

He loved that job. It’s the only thing he’s been really good at since quitting the criminal life. The thought of returning to his old life is… unsettling. He opened a reverse Pandora’s Box, and too much of the do-gooding spirit got into him. There’s no going back now.

He’s too desperate to be someone Barry can be proud of.

Why the fuck has he quit his job?

_A cold concrete floor. A metal shard in his shoulder. Amunet’s flunkies holding his head under water. Days and nights alone in the dark—_

Len turns his wine glass in his hand, watching the play of light and shadows on its surface. “Gonna turn in early,” he tells Iris and Barry’s reflections in the glass. “Kinda tired.”

They both tell him it’s fine. Kind, like he doesn’t deserve. Barry helps him up the stairs, like he doesn’t deserve. Kisses him, once he’s got Len settled in bed, like he doesn’t… 

“I love you,” his sweet speedster says, a gift and a promise. Len wants to believe him. It all feels so distant. 

“Same,” Len murmurs. “Turn out the light as you leave, would you?”

 _Awkward,_ says the hallucination from above. Lightning flares with a snap. Not-Barry is back in the air, one leg crossed over the other. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Len mutters, rolling over and closing his eyes.

_You really want to keep feeling this helpless, do you?_

Len sighs heavily. He’s learning that the only way to shut this guy up is to give him a little attention. But then, what did he expect from a figment of Leonard Snart’s imagination? He turns onto his back to look at not-Barry. “Got a better idea?”

 _Already gave you one._ The disdainful tone is nothing Len would ever hear out of Barry’s mouth, but looking up at the hallucination is still uncanny. 

Len snorts. “Revenge? Please. Don’t have time for that.” He should be calling Jared and begging for his job back. The trafficked metas are alone, facing worse shit than a two-week stay in a basement. “I got people to help.”

Not-Barry smirks down at him. _People who are just gonna kill you? Nah, you made the right call._ He stretches out on the ceiling. _Nothing you do even matters. For every meta you save, there’ll always be a villain taking out ten more._ He aims a hard stare down at Len. _And when you get in their way, you’re the one who’s gonna suffer. It’s you or them._

This guy can make speeches as well as Len. It’s a persuasive point.

But there’s a counter-argument. Len looks up at the ceiling, and all he can see is his speedster’s face. “I need to be worthy of you,” he says quietly. “Someone you can trust.”

That laugh is chilling. _Well, here’s the thing, Lenny._ _You’re never gonna be worthy of me. So how about you just do everyone a favor and get on with the thing you’re refusing to plan?_

“Can’t,” Len says.

 _Sure you can. All of this?_ Not-Barry waves a hand around the cabin. _You always knew it wasn’t permanent. Not real. You know what is real? Surviving. So get off your ass and take Amunet out, before she takes you out._

“Shut. Up,” Len grates out.

Not-Barry laughs, and pops out of existence.

The sudden dark is too cold and too close. When Barry finds him an hour later, Len is huddled under the blankets. “Are you okay?” his speedster (the real, the only) asks into his shoulder.

Len turns away from him, towards the wall. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Barry doesn’t answer, but his arms tighten around Len’s middle. Len falls asleep to the sound of Barry’s soft, safe breathing in his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated - thank you!
> 
> Updates may be slower for this one than the first, as I've gone back to work and no longer have *all the time* to work on it - but they will happen. :)


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